Author's Note: Oh my goodnes, well here we go with the next chapter. Alright, so I'm not going spoil the pairings or anything just yet, so stick around and you'll see. That having been said, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter and as always, reviews are much appriciated.

Happy reading!


Chapter 1: What May Be Necessary

"This is not how I imagined I would be spending our five year voyage."

Captain James T. Kirk fell into step with his Commanding Officer, brushing against his shoulder in an unmistakably familiar gesture. They carried on walking, passing various offices through the newly remodeled San FranciscoStarFleetControlCenter in comfortable silence.

Finally, Spock replied with a monotone, "The field scanner upgrade is a logical improvement."

"It's damn inconvenient."

"It is as you may call it a 'necessary evil'."

Kirk snorted, shooting a quick sidelong glance at the Vulcan.

"I think we're here for more than just an equipment and systems reboot. The Enterprise was in fine condition after her first overhaul. They're up to something."

"They?" came the tentative inquiry.

"Yeah – them. The brass, the upper echelon, Marcus' buddies."

"You suspect we are still under inspection?"

Kirk slowed until he came to a stop, fully facing Spock with a serious set to his jaw. "Think about it – it's been almost five months since we officially departed. What new upgrade could be so important to call us back all the way to HQ to get it replaced? Why not have us dock on a nearby Star Fleet colony?"

"Whatever you might be suggesting, Captain, it is highly improbable. The Admirals have no reason to mistrust neither you nor the crew of the Enterprise," Spock's impressive eyebrows drew together in a rare display of a facial expression.

"Then why are we here? Come on, I know you aren't buying this crap."

"I will admit our delay seems poorly timed –,"

"Three weeks!" the Captain exclaimed slightly too loud. His voice immediately dropped to a whisper, "We've been here already for almost a week, we still have two more to go. I've been dragged off to every Captain's dinner imaginable, stuck in every board meeting they can think to put me in. And Bones has been forced into some weird science/medical convention. God knows I've barely seen you for more than a few minutes at a time – they're watching us, Spock. I don't know why, but they are. We're being split up and observed."

"You are certain, verified by facts?"

Jim made a noncommittal sound, "You know I can't say that. But what I do know is that something's up."

The Vulcan let loose an uncharacteristic breath of exasperation before finally meeting Jim's eyes. "Until we acquire any tangible proof, your suspicion shall remain mere suspicion. We would require access to personal encrypted data files of administrative personnel to commence our search, a high offense if discovered."

"Is that an offer?" Jim asked lightly, his blue eyes twinkling with a playfulness the Vulcan was surprised to find he missed.

The pair rounded the corner into a wider hallway, consisting almost entirely of tall panned windows facing out onto the sprawling quadrangle. Cadets and various officers bustled in small groups between the buildings. Kirk couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips – everyone seemed so caught up in what they were doing, and thinking.

It had been close to two years since the incident. Crashing spaceships and burning rubble were far from everyone's mind, however, Kirk thought with a grim note, history has a way of repeating itself. And while Khan might still be on ice, the fact remained that others equally dangerous still threaten Star Fleet and her officers. Not to mention the internal threats still abound.

Since the Marcus incident, Star Fleet had ensured it would keep a closer eye on her own, hoping to deter any would-be defectors. All they'd managed to do was royally piss off a few Admirals and confine a few Captains, Kirk himself included. Parameters had shrunk, command missives had grown lengthier – and Jim was ready to throw in the towel.

"It is a statement," Spock replied, bringing the Captain back to himself. He turned once more to continue walking but paused, only for a moment to toss over his shoulder, "One that will require you at the H-Block archive tonight, preferably dressed in darker attire."

Jim Kirk grinned in spite of himself.

"So, it's a date."

"It is an offer."

The smirk was clear in his voice, even when all Jim would see was his perfectly straight back and damnable pointy ears, retreating farther down the corridor until disappearing entirely around the corner.

. . . . .

"Spock!" Jim called out into the half-darkness, broken up only by the sallow light of the cityscape outside. The archive building had been easy enough to gain access to – nothing a small set of coordinated phaser bursts couldn't solve.

In a flash, a hand clamped vice-like down on his mouth while another arm held his shoulders barring any extraneous movement.

"Captain, noise higher than this current decibel is ill advised," came Spock's whisper, not much more than the mouthing of words over an exhale. Kirk nodded as his first officer's grip slackened until just one hand remained between his shoulder blades, gently steering him in the direction of a mainframe console.

The Vulcan moved like a cat, barely brushing against Jim's side as he turned on the large computer. The screen jumped to life and Spock set to work. He bypassed the sleek cover of the software with a few swift keystrokes, opting instead for the plain lines of code. His fingers glided with practice ease as he sifted through the mass amount of irrelevant information.

In the blue glow of the screen, Spock looked alien. At least, more alien than per usual, Kirk thought with a smirk.

"Captain, I believe I may have found something."

Jim leaned in closer, scanning the dizzying lines for tangible phrases.

"Project XI-9?" The words felt ominous aloud. Jim locked eyes with Spock for a brief second, sharing a strange moment before returning their attention back to the database.

"No prime directive is stated, but an impressive amount of credits have been allocated to it through untraceable wired accounts."

"So…?"

"So there are discrepancies in the released Star Fleet budget, according to the existence of this such project."

Jim let out a short huff, "Well, is there anything else here? Anything to give us an idea of what they're spending the money on?"

"Negative, Captain."

The last thing Jim wanted to do was let this go, but without anything further to go on, project XI-9 would remain just a top secret budget sink.

. . . . .

Doctor McCoy forced another smile as yet another fleet doctors passed by, thankfully he didn't stop for a long, insufferable conversation just to say well, how about this weather, huh? For the first time, Leonard actually missed the hectic missions and panicked seconds as he worked to remove poisonous spines of Jim's arm, or stop the bleeding on a phaser wound, stab wound, internal puncture wound on Jim, or just generally keep his Captain upright.

Hell, even the damn awkward and annoying physicals on the hobgoblin were better than this.

He'd been stuck in this purgatory from the moment the Enterprise landed in the SanFran docking bay, dragged off to this ridiculous and never-ending convention where his peers hummed and hashed over his work, each expecting him to ooh and ah in return. His southern patience was running thin and he didn't want to spend another Kansas second here.

"Doctor McCoy?"

Leonard cursed, turning around to snap, "Oh for the love of -!"

"Bones!" Jim's whole face was alight with that mix of unadulterated joy and mischief.

"Jim!" The doctor, forgetting his foul mood momentarily, lurched forward to clasp his hand firmly around his Captain's forearms. He even flashed a genuine look of relief over in Spock's direction, who meanwhile stood impassive to the warm greeting.

"Please tell me the ship's done and you've come to bust me outta here," Leonard pleaded.

Jim shook his head, "Afraid not, Bones. In fact, we've come to –,"

"Doctor McCoy!" An older fleet doctor whipped around the corner, brandishing a data pad with one hand. "Have you had a chance to look over Millan's notes? His definition of 'cured' seems questionable."

Jim stepped forward, suddenly all formality and nearly oozing his Captain-vibe.

"I'm afraid the doctor's otherwise occupied right now," he said not unkindly but with authority enough to warrant the other physician to shake Kirk's hand and apologize profusely for his interruption.

"I could kiss you," Bones sighed in relief.

"Later," Jim said in a mockingly flirtatious tone. "Right now we have something more important to talk about. Come on."

The trio escaped the convention hall, moving in a pointed silence and with practiced purpose until they found themselves in an empty hallway, windows facing out onto one of the main courtyards.

"Have you ever heard of Project XI-9?" Jim asked finally, turning a critical eye upon his doctor.

McCoy thought for a moment before he shook his head, "No, I don't think so. I know medical has a few things under wraps but most have pretty straightforward names – things like Surgical Implant Procedures number seven. I mean, as doctors, code names are as useless as tits on a boar."

The three fell silent once more. Jim ran a hand along his jaw contemplatively, doing little to mask his frustration.

Just as the Captain opened his mouth to speak, a strange rumbling seemed to fill the hall, reverberating in the air and vibrating the very ground they stood on. Jim locked eyes with McCoy, surprise and suspicion flitting across his features.

"Captain," Spock said sharply, pointing out at the courtyard directly before them.

Light particles were amassing and swirling, forming a steadily solidifying shape about the size of a large hovercraft. For a moment, the shape seemed to shift, as if the object wouldn't quite fully make the teleportation.

And then, as abruptly as it had begun, it ended with an ear-splitting clap.

Sitting in the courtyard, steam and smoke swirling off its hull, was a regulation class shuttle, precisely a B-12, which had materialized out of thin air. For a moment, it seemed nothing would happen until the warning siren split the calm.

Without preamble, Kirk pulled out his phaser and shot the glass, breaking the window. Immediately he leapt through, his first officer and chief physician only steps behind.

"Was that necessary, Captain?" Spock asked over the chaos.

Kirk stared at the mystery shuttle down his sights as he replied, "As necessary as that scanner upgrade."

The trickle of Star Fleet guards was steady as they filed out of the surrounding buildings to form a perimeter, falling into line with Jim and his crewmates. Suddenly, the shuttle hissed as its main hatch was engaged, slowly lowering to reveal a silhouette of a humanoid figure, obscured by dim interior and backlighting of the ship.

"Come out with your hands above your head!" the Captain called out, tensing his grip on his phaser.

There was a beat, and then the figure raised his hands, stepping forward into the over-cast San Francisco sunlight.

Kirk forgot to breathe – he couldn't breathe, his lungs seem to shrivel as he released an outward gasp. His chest heaved, his adrenaline spiked, his senses went into overdrive yet he remained absolutely paralyzed with rage, with fear.

Those eyes.

Those damningly familiar blue eyes met his, wide with equal fear, with undeniable horror. Pure, aching terror.

He never got the chance to open his mouth – two phaser shots struck him square in the chest and he crumpled. No fight, no proclamation of victory or of unspeakable genocide, not even a taunt.

Khan Noonien Singh was lying unconscious at Jim Kirk's feet.