Several plot elements from Crisis on Centaurus by Brad Ferguson are included in this chapter: McCoy's sister Donna, Kirk meeting McCoy due to a severe knee injury, Spock meeting Joanna, McCoy's second home on Centaurus (and its being destroyed), Kirk's cabin on Centaurus, and Kirk offering for Spock to take a vacation to his cabin with him.

McCoy's suffering from the broken mental bond with Spock, as well as what would have been cardiac arrest, had it not been for carrying his katra, is headcanon based on fanon that a broken meld can be fatal to the surviving mate. The sequence of McCoy enduring pain was written while I listened to "Dance With the Night Wind" from the Silent Hill 3 soundtrack.

The relief given by Spock's sacrifice was so fleeting. Once the day shift had stumbled off to their quarters, a mournful silence fell over the ship.

Kirk stared down at the glass of bourbon McCoy had poured for him, the bottle being in the doctor's personal store. They were alive, they should be happy for that. They had been, for a moment, upon seeing the glint in space after Spock's coffin had been sent off. But there was no happiness tonight. Not just him, but the charges under him, had fallen.

McCoy looked like hell. His eyes were puffy and red, his hair slightly unkempt. He was slightly slouched and appeared older than he was. They all had. After reality had set in, they grieved in private, or with a close friend. He hadn't indicated that he'd wanted company, and Kirk had allowed him his time alone. After speaking with David, however, he had pinged to check in on his friend, which ended with him inviting McCoy to sit with him. The doctor had brought the alcohol, which he had already smelled like upon entering the room.

Conversation between them was sparse, their regret speaking for them. "Likely, we won't be returning to Earth for about a month, now," Kirk commented.

McCoy nodded, having said the less of the two of them. His continually faraway gaze was eerie. Something about him looked damaged, in a way, and Kirk's heart sank. He lowered his head to look at his hand. "I've already compiled the death certificates. Once we get in range, they can be sent off."

"Thank you," Kirk replied, not wanting to breach a personal subject for McCoy. He would, once close enough, contact Sarek and Amanda about their son's death. He couldn't push him on it. However, he would not be alone in it, as Kirk would have to send the message, as well.

McCoy didn't say a word about Spock, the lack of his presence being felt. "Don't blame yourself, Bones," Kirk comforted.

His empty eyes slowly raised to meet his. He took a heavy breath. "I…" He broke off, and looked away, his eyes shutting. He let go of the glass and rubbed at his eyes. "I can't help it. I should've known that he'd lie to me. Why did I listen to him?"

Kirk moved to rise, and McCoy stopped him, hissing, "Don't." Dropping his hand, McCoy muttered, "I can't explain it to you fully, but Spock," he brought his arms about himself, "He built a wall. I couldn't read his intentions. He taught me how to do it, but I'm not as good at it. I couldn't even sense it, but that's the point of it."

"Then don't blame yourself, you didn't know," Kirk argued.

McCoy kneaded the fabric of his uniform. "It's not that I didn't know, Jim. It's that I wanted to think I'd talked him down from it. Of course, I hadn't. That's how our arguments went, anyway." He reached out, and pushed his drink away from himself, the liquid sloshing.

It was a nail being placed in a coffin. McCoy didn't dare speak further, as he knew, that had Spock not died, neither of them would be sitting there.

Kirk, however, reached out to him. "I shouldn't have left Khan on that planet."

"You made a humane decision based upon the knowledge at hand," McCoy replied, though his words sounded mechanical, "You didn't know what would happen to that planet."

"I could have very well had him placed in a penal colony, and that would have been the end of it." Kirk shook his head at his own foolish pride, and similarly pushed his glass aside. McCoy didn't contradict him this time, and he found his silence to be crushing. When he glanced at his CMO, however, the latter looked away, not wishing to incriminate him.

Rather, he opted to exit the unpleasant conversation by rising. "I'll at least make myself useful, and help you clean up," McCoy offered, "Gives me something to do, anyway, other than sleep."

His tone was neutral, though not flippant. Kirk had a suspicion that his friend, similarly to himself and the others, was having trouble fully acknowledging what had come to pass on this black day. Deciding to keep the delicate balance, Kirk replied, "Sure, I can use another pair of hands."

Glasses clinked as they were put away. The empty bottle rolled on its side, and slipped off, prompting Kirk to catch it. He would normally have joked about his reflexes but allowed that joke to die before it left his lips. The doctor had been scrubbing off the table when he let out a gasp, the towel falling from his grip. He braced himself upon his elbows on the table's surface. Putting his head in his hands, he rubbed at the sides of his head. Kirk went over to him in concern. McCoy took a breath to re-center himself and stood. "Bones, does your family know?" Kirk asked quietly, grasping his arm.

McCoy lowered his hands. "On my side, Joanna and Donna. On his, Sarek and Amanda."

Kirk's hand tightened on his arm. "I'll—" he broke off, realizing that he would have choked off his words, had he continued. Swallowing, Kirk tried again. "I'll find a way to fix it.

"I'm not broken, Jim," he replied quietly, "Our link's doing what it's supposed to."

Seizing him by the shoulders, Kirk shook him. "So that's it, then?! You'll just lay down and die? Just what the hell happened to you?"

McCoy gritted his teeth, and shoved Kirk off him. The two men stood in silence, catching their breath. Kirk lowered his eyes, and turned his head away, his forefinger and thumb wiping at them. He made no sound, but McCoy could tell from the slight jerk his shoulders gave that he was stifling a sob. Glancing away from him, McCoy noticed the reading glasses he had given Kirk, which were propped up on the nightstand. For a moment, he felt annoyance at seeing that the lenses were broken, but he let it go.

Kirk lowered his hand, and, gathering himself, turned back to look at him. His eyes still glistened, and for once he seemed lost for words. "I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," McCoy reassured.

"My ship, my problem," he replied, his voice taking on a defensive note. McCoy stood defiantly before him on that point, tension crackling as neither man wished to back down. Kirk realized the utter disdain he felt against his friend for reassuring him at all. Did he think he could just heal everyone's problems by throwing a band-aid or some advice on it? He was a fool. Then again, they all were. But there were some places McCoy couldn't tread, and the same went for Kirk. Walls, forged by time and their differing fields had risen between them, without them noticing.

Kirk attempted break them down. "How long do we have?"

McCoy folded his arms. "Give or take a couple of months. This circumstance is rare, so I can't give an accurate amount."

"How will it happen?"

"Thankfully, it won't be anything grotesque. My body will begin to shut down, since my brain is turning itself off. Likely, it'll be cardiac arrest that will end me." Kirk gave away too much in his expressions, but then again, this was on a personal level, and McCoy knew him too well. "Only thing I'm worried about are false starts," McCoy commented quietly.

It was too much. Kirk's arms were about him, holding him tightly. Burying his head in McCoy's shoulder, he choked, "Oh, Bones, no…" McCoy felt Kirk's tears seeping into his uniform as he wept, clutching at him. McCoy's embarrassment at himself for being viewed as an invalid was combined with his care for his friend. He didn't want Kirk to be like this, especially over him.

He brought his hands up to Kirk's uniform and pushed on him. "Jim." Kirk slowly backed up, self-consciously wiping his face on his sleeve. "I'm still here."

Kirk grabbed a hold of himself. Spock would have thought it incorrect for him to be upset. Likely, he was making McCoy feel uncomfortable with his behavior, and he had enough to deal with already. Everyone did, now. But he didn't have to do it alone. "Will you stay here tonight?"

McCoy glanced over at the bed. "It only fits one."

Kirk shook his head. "I'll sleep in the chair." He self-consciously placed his hands on his hips. "Call me superstitious, I guess."

"You need to sleep. That can't be comfortable."

Kirk gave him a sad smile. "I don't think either of us will."

"Fine. Only I get the chair." Kirk opened his mouth, but McCoy cut him off by holding up his finger. "My choice, or I don't stay."

The captain shrugged. "Suit yourself, then. Blanket's in the storage cabinet."

There wasn't much to speak of, and there was little point in trying, the air solemn as it was. McCoy retreated to his quarters to switch his clothing before returning. Kirk wrote out a quick log of the day, mainly to get it out of his system, before putting it away. He didn't wish to think on the letters to family, and recordings of service. It had become easier to be detached from it, but now he stood upon a pile of dead young people, and his close friend. McCoy, Kirk's blanket in hand, made it over to the chair before stopping against it, catching himself on its arm. Kirk raised his head from his desk, and McCoy waved a hand at him. "Clumsy," he muttered. Twisting about, he climbed into the chair, and curled underneath the blanket. He gazed over at Kirk as his friend lowered himself onto his bed. "And Jim?"

Kirk glanced up at him. "Yeah?"

"Thanks." Kirk gave him an understanding nod. McCoy raised his hand to his face and lowered his head into it. Climbing into bed, Kirk quietly commanded for lights out. Still, the doctor's head remained buried, and he didn't question him as to why. Turning to stare up at the ceiling, he put his arms behind his head. He took a breath, and mentally prepared himself for a long night.

Swimming through the darkness, he saw several images. He saw his ship, falling apart. He saw Khan, bloodied and filled with loss, reaching out to him from where he lay, mangled, beneath falling wires and metal. He saw Scotty's nephew, dying in sickbay. Spock placed his hand to the glass, one last time, as a salute, a goodbye.

He opened his eyes. Was it all a nightmare? Perhaps Spock was still alive, and he could call him…But a cold reality slowly dawned upon him. No, he could not. Kirk propped himself up on an elbow and glanced over at the chronometer. He figured he must have dozed off. Something was creaking, and soft, pained-sounding grunts and groans were heard. Kirk's eyes widened as he realized that it was McCoy's voice. Sliding out of bed, he commanded, "Computer, lights, dim!" He threw the covers from him, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

McCoy had twisted slightly upon the chair, his one hand tight upon the arm rest to the point where his knuckles were white. His legs were still curled tightly into himself, while his other hand clutched at his chest. His breaths were short, as if he was having trouble breathing. The blanket that had been on his lap was on the floor.

Kirk's heart hammered in his ears as he darted over to him. Seizing him by his clothing, he shook him. "Bones, wake up!"

McCoy's eyes shot open. He tugged himself backward but stopped upon registering who was holding onto him. "Jim?" He glanced about, unsure of his surroundings until realization dawned on him.

Kirk let out a sigh of relief as McCoy contorted himself out of his position. Straightening up, and running a hand through his own unkempt hair, Kirk asked drowsily, "What was that?"

McCoy's eyes narrowed in thought. "It's an imprint. Spock told me about this. My mind is simulating what he went through when he…" His voice trailed off, and Kirk's hand fell from his hair.

"How badly is it hurting you?" Kirk asked in concern.

"Like hell," he muttered with a grimace.

"Anything you need me to get for you?"

McCoy shook his head. "It's just a simulation. It'll go away with time." He winced, and lurched. "Jesus!"

"Sitting in that chair probably isn't making it any better," Kirk observed, "You should probably lay down."

"Jim, no," he protested.

Kirk smiled at him and picked up the blanket. "We're partway through the night, anyway. Just don't get any ideas. It's still my ship. Besides, I've nodded off at my desk before, so it's nothing really new." McCoy winced, but gave him a knowing smirk. He'd caught the captain doing that before, during the five-year mission, and had thrown a blanket over his shoulders. When the doctor still didn't move, Kirk added, "Don't forget, you still have the medical staff to teach. They're going to need you more than ever, now."

McCoy slowly nodded, and rose, his bodily motion tilting sideways due to a lack of sleep hindering his coordination. Kirk grasped his wrist to steady him. Meeting the edge of the bed, McCoy gratefully tumbled onto it. He sprawled sideways, his head missing the pillow. Grumbling, he tugged it under his head. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, his skin burning, and his eyes tearing from the pain. Feeling Kirk's eyes on him still, he glanced over at him. "What?" He mumbled.

Seeking to take McCoy's mind off his pain, Kirk placed a hand on his own knee. "Remember how we met?"

McCoy propped himself on his elbow. "What, your knee bothering you again? Hang on a sec," he crawled to the edge of the bed, his words beginning to slur from his tiredness, "Let me get my medkit…"

"No," Kirk replied firmly, and McCoy turned to look at him, "it's not. It's thanks to you that I can even walk at all."

The doctor lowered his head back to the pillow with a dazed expression. "Don't get all sentimental on me. I'd have done it for any patient. You were just crazy enough to take me up on the treatment."

Kirk smiled. "When I was well enough to walk again, we went to Centaurus. Long ship ride."

McCoy's one arm lazily flailed against the pillow. "I remember. We talked about women over cards." Understanding flickered through his vision. "Carol was one of yours."

Kirk nodded. "I miss Centaurus. My cabin's still there, you know. You can come with me, if you want."

McCoy's gaze became faraway, his own property, which he had owned as a second home to be close to Joanna, having been destroyed during a terrorist incident. He and Kirk had been so worried, that day, about whether his daughter was all right. And thankfully, he'd been able to hold her in his arms. Spock had been the one to discover her first on that terrible day, fittingly. His vision became hazy as he recalled how on a later date, he'd properly introduced Spock to Joanna as her new stepfather to be during a later shore leave on Centaurus.

Kirk's face fell, and he realized that his attempt to comfort McCoy had backfired. Spock had left his fingerprints upon both their memories. McCoy shut his eyes, releasing the tears that had been building in them. Looking down, he asked, "You ever get to take Spock on vacation, there?" They both knew that the answer was no. After the five-year mission, the Enterprise began to take on more profile assignments, and Kirk eventually ascended to admiral. Coupled with the fact that Spock became captain himself, it simply fell between the cracks. Kirk realized the futility of his efforts, as he had brought the conversation full circle, back to their loss. He'd lost a best friend. McCoy had lost a husband. The doctor shrugged. "Jim, it's okay. Life gets in the way."

"It feels like an excuse, though," Kirk commented.

"Promises, promises. Look, if we had the infinite time and resources that some races in this universe boast, it would be different. But now, we do what we can with what we are given. And hell, we're still better off than our ancestors were."

Kirk reached out, and grasped McCoy's other hand, which was outstretched on the sheet. It trembled slightly in his grasp. He ran his fingers over McCoy's, coaxing them to settle. McCoy's breathing staggered once more, only to relax in the next breath as he drifted back off to sleep.

Kirk slowly let go of his hand and sat back upon the chair. He felt protective of his friend and didn't want to let him out of his sight. But he couldn't possibly force that upon him, or for that matter, any of his crew, for as tightly as he clutched them to himself now.

McCoy's condition was a piece that just didn't fit. Spock wouldn't have desired to place him in such pain, let alone kill him, yet this was the result. The conundrum haunted Kirk, and he brushed it aside. Spock likely hadn't had time to think, with the ship under attack as it was. For what he did know about mind melds, during the incident with the OK Corral, the concentration needed was complete, even for a short session. Breaking a permanent meld would have been too much attention division. But Spock had to have considered that. He knew him. He knew he wouldn't do this to McCoy. What was going on? This all seemed so surreal. But perhaps his speculations were just a symptom of his wanting his dear friend back, and nothing more. Spock was fallible as he was, and both had proved that today.

Hours ticked slowly by. McCoy's sleep was fitful, causing him to twitch, or roll slightly on the bed. When he mumbled to himself, Kirk didn't strain his ears to listen, as it wasn't any of his business. Though he did catch the Vulcan's name once or twice. In those instances, when the mutterings sounded suspiciously like endearments, Kirk felt as if he was intruding upon something private. Curling further into the chair, and tugging the blanket more tightly about himself, he pretended not to hear. Other moments, however, when the doctor began to groan again, and clutch at himself in pain, Kirk slid out of the chair, and knelt by his side. Grasping and shaking him again, Kirk coaxed him to wake up, and relax. He doubted that McCoy even recognized him at that point.

Eventually, Kirk gave up any intention of sleeping, and replicated a cup of coffee. Sipping it, he wondered if there was a problem with the chronometer, or the night shift really was moving that slowly. He hoped that the imprint would only last for this night. He wasn't ready to talk with David and Carol again right now. The ship's air felt heavy, and he doubted that the day shift staff was getting any sleep.

Setting down the cup, he thought of Kodos. He'd come to fear that face as a child, due to the man's utterly callous nature. The remains of decapitated bodies lay in messes of blood, while others were completely vaporized. Grabbing his friend Thomas's hand, they'd both ran off into the woods, splattered with the blood of the dead, smelling of burning rubber, and whispering to each other that they'd never tell. Thomas curled up in a nest of tree limbs, and jammed his hand into his mouth, trying hard not to cry as Jim tore off strips of his own shirt to wipe the blood, so much blood, that fell from his empty eye socket. Burying his head in his brother's chest that night, Jim had quivered from fear, and tried to hide from the visions of legions of formless corpses that crawled toward him on stumps of limbs.

Kodos was but another variant of men like Khan. Kirk had previously thought the strain to be dying off, but now he was not so sure, rattled utterly as he was by Spock's death. He felt protective of David and Saavik, as well as other young people like them, and worried over what tyrants they would have to face. Had he accomplished nothing, then? He knew that his younger self would have faced this as another obstacle to best, but now he wondered whether this was just another part of the universe's cycle. Perhaps, one day, the Federation would also be buried by sand, as Khan's empire had once been. He didn't relish the prospect, but it was hard not to think of death. What would the historians say, he wondered? But then again, there were so many stories not told, or stories that were bent out of shape. The sailors of old, whose legacy the Enterprise carried, sung of sex, sea creatures, and lands far away, with some songs still played today, and others lost at full fathom five.

Kirk placed his hand down upon the chronometer before the alarm could go off. He shook McCoy. The doctor blearily opened his eyes, and Kirk asked, "Bones, you okay?"

Groggily, he sat up, and rubbed at his eyes. "Pain's gone down. I still feel like hell, but I think that's more from not sleeping very well."

"Can you fill your shift?" Kirk inquired.

McCoy waved a hand. "No need to baby me, Jim. Besides, if I start skipping out on it now, it'll become a habit."

Kirk nodded and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. "If you start feeling sick, you tell me. I'm not having you start neglecting yourself."

McCoy's gaze hardened. "Don't even think of it," he replied sharply, scooting backward out of his grasp, "but thanks, anyway. If I'm going to have any semblance of normalcy, I have to continue."

"Who said anything about normalcy?" Kirk inquired.

McCoy gave a humorless laugh.