Wow. Fastest update from me - ever. Another 5am writing spree. :P See, reviews help. A lot.

I figured I'm mention this now, because people will want to know. This is a GEN fic, with no pairings. Though, you're more then welcome to read between the lines, because like the original series and movie, there's a lot of subtle hints and actions going on, and it's nearly impossible to write them without being...well....gay. XD Let's just call it a very very strong Friendship fic.

I'm starting to set a good tone here. The story will be mostly (if not entirely) from Jim's angle. The actual events of what went down before, during and after the shuttle incident a year ago, will be explained in pieces through the telling of the other crew members as we catch up to them. So each chapter will include bits from the present, and flashbacks during the shuttle incident. So don't get confused it McCoy's lack of details doesn't explain everything.

So, yeah. Enjoy!


Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. But to Leonard McCoy, it was all the same. He woke, dressed, submerged himself in his work, came home, submerged himself in his booze, slept, and then started all over again the next day. Ever since Jim's death, he couldn't find any ambition in perusing anything more.

He knew he was being pathetic. Just because Jim wasn't here anymore, didn't mean he wasn't capable of carrying on with his life. But Jim had a way of inspiring the best in people. With Jim now gone…McCoy was back being the crotchety old man he was known for.

"Yo, barkeep. Another." McCoy called out into the near empty bar which was occupied by its typical Tuesday regulars. McCoy wasn't one of those regulars, but Uhura had stopped by and pestered him about going out more, to other places besides the Starfleet Hospital. He figured he'd take her advice so she wouldn't nag so much. So, he went to a bar.

McCoy waved his glass at the bar keep for emphasis when the man didn't move fast enough. The man rolled his eyes but refilled the glass anyway.

McCoy took his time with this refill, savoring the slow burn down his throat. His eyes trailed out the tinted windows, staring at the blurred red lights that flashed outside from some unknown source. The world tilted just slightly, and for a moment, he felt as if he was back there, on that burning piece of scrap metal. The day Jim Kirk died.

---------

The entire place stunk of burning hull and smoking electrical wiring. The lights flashed red from emergency back-up power and the air was choked with smoke. And they were stuck there, like trapped rats on a sinking ship going up in flames.

Communicators were down, and there was no way for the Enterprise to beam them back aboard due to the ship's design. It was made from a strange and unknown material that allowed energy transports onto the ship, but not out. If there was a way around it, they hadn't discovered it, and they didn't have the time.

The rescue team was already down a man. A red-shirt McCoy didn't know the name of. Chekov, who in McCoy's opinion shouldn't have even been there in the first place, was badly wounded, drifting in and out of consciousness. Another red-shirt security officer who Jim often referred to as Cupcake, and McCoy himself were relatively unharmed, but that did little make the situation better. Jim himself was a little scuffed up, probably more so then the looked from the subtle limp in his frantic step. For once McCoy didn't even attempt to bandage Jim up. There just wasn't any time.

The piece-of-shit rig they were trapped on was going down, and going down fast. The controls were completely destroyed, practically melted together in a mass of wires and shrapnel. They moved back to the cargo bay, where Jim discovered a transport pad. It was of course not operating, but Jim didn't believe in no-win scenarios, or situations he couldn't fix. Elbow deep in the mechanics and wiring, he frantically worked on diverting power and rebuilding the controls.

"Ah, Shit!" Jim swears as the wires he had been attempting to connect sparks and sizzles in his hands. Not bothering to wipe the blood from his split fingertips, he frantically picked up the wiring again and got back to work. "I'm almost there, almost there." Jim chants under his breath.

McCoy watches him from where he was trying to attend to the wounded Chekov. There is little he can say or do in this situation, and he's never felt so useless. He looks over at Cupcake, who was looking just as pathetic, unable to help. Jim was the only one of them who had any engineering experience, thus the only one who could save them.

It was then that Jim froze, holding a partially lit panel in his hands. McCoy watched him, surprised and worried by Jim's expression, or lack of thereof. It was neither an expression of defeat or victory. McCoy was just about ask what's wrong, when Chekov groaned in his delirious state. Jim's eyes snapped over to the injured boy, and his fist clenched around the panel with determination.

"I've got it!" Jim stands shakily, holding the panel. "Get on the transport deck, there's only enough juice for one shot."

"Thank God! Let's get off this hunk of scrap!" Cupcake roars with triumph and helps McCoy move Chekov onto the pad. Just in time too as another explosion rippled through the ship, making the lights flicker dangerously.

"Come on Jim! Let's go!" McCoy snapped, attempting to pull Jim onto the transport pad, but Jim didn't move. "Jim?"

Jim didn't look at McCoy. He punches a few buttons on the panel, with a sort of small smile on his face. "Sorry Bones, not this time."

"What the fuck are you talking about!? This isn't the time for games Jim!" McCoy snarls, pushing Jim's shoulder so he'd face him.

Jim continued punching in the coordinates into the make-shift panel he held. "I can't Bones. Someone's gotta stay behind and run the controls. Or no one leaves."

"So you automatically nominate yourself!?" McCoy roars, too angry to fully process what Jim's telling him. Only three out of their party of four can survive. And one must be left behind.

"Of course Bones! I'm the Captain, and I'll be damned if I let anyone sacrifice themselves for me. It's my ship, my men, and my responsibility to protect them!" Jim yells back, his carefully controlled emotions snapping, showing just how terrified and panicked he really was. His eyes however, hold that firm and deep-rooted stubbornness he was so well known for. "There's no other way."

"And it's our job to protect you, because without you, we're nothing! Nothing, Jim!" McCoy shakes Jim's shoulder for emphasis, his voice nearing hysteria. McCoy knows that look on Jim's face, which makes McCoy panic even more. "I'm not leaving without you!"

"The Enterprise is the best damn crew in the entire space fleet. She'll hold together, Bones. I taught them to." Jim smiles sadly at McCoy. "Sorry Bones."

McCoy's response is literally ripped from his lungs as Jim lands a hard punch right in his gut, making McCoy stagger and nearly keel over. Jim pushes him back hard towards Cupcake on the transport pad.

"Hold him! That's an order!" Jim snaps at Cupcake, who steadies the doctor. Cupcake nods, and with one arm supports McCoy, and with the other salutes his Captain. Jim gives him a brief salute back.

"Take care of them Bones." Jim smiles, and pushes a button on the panel, energizing the transporter.

McCoy attempts to lurch forward, but is held back by Cupcake. "GODDAMMIT JI----" He roars, but is cut off when he materializes. The smiling face of Jim, tears streaming down his face, is the last time he ever saw him.

The blinding white walls and near deafening silence compared to the alarms and smoke filled air of the damaged ship was a shock to McCoy at first. Other staff members, surprised by their sudden reappearance on the ship, move to help them. But McCoy just shoves them out of the way, dashing out of the room at breakneck speed. He runs to the observation deck, which is nearby, and presses himself up against the glass.

The damaged shuttle looks like a dying beast, bleeding out and falling apart. Pieces of the hull peel and snap, with explosions ripping gaping holes in the side. The gravity of the planet they were orbiting drags the shuttle down towards it, like a sinking ship at sea. It's so surreal, because as McCoy watches this with shear horror and sorrow, he feels detached and almost believes this wasn't happening. There is no sound. No alarms, blasts, creaks or deadly hiss. Just complete silence amongst the destruction.

McCoy flinches violently as the middle literally splits in two, another explosion sending it further down towards the planet, this time in pieces. It burns an angry orange and white, growing smaller and smaller as it disappears until it's nothing but a while speck in the far off distance down towards the planet surface.

McCoy slumps down against the glass. Just like that, his captain and best friend is gone. McCoy sits there, looking out onto the vast nothingness. He doesn't move for a long time.

Only one person checks up on him. Nurse Chapel tries to give him her support, but he's to far into denial and shock and grief to even respond. She tells him she'll check up on him later, and to take as much time off as he needs. McCoy wishes he was a better man, to comfort her as well, because she doesn't bother to hide the tears in her eyes. But McCoy's not that man, and he just continues to sit there.

It isn't until he hears the announcement over the intercom that McCoy moves. It's Spock, now calling himself Acting Captain. He tells the entire crew of Jim's demise, and that they'll be heading back to Starfleet immediately. Spock's expressionless tone grates on McCoy's nerves. Logically McCoy knows Spock is probably grieving too, but with a personality like Spock's, one could never tell. McCoy leaves the observation deck, seeking out his personal quarters. He isn't emotionally stable enough to handle seeing anyone at the moment. Especially the green-bloodied hobgoblin.

A bottle of whiskey calls to him from his secret stash. The one Jim had given to him for his birthday. He'll deal with everything else in the morning. But for now, he's going to drown himself in his only friend left, and relive the moment he was completely useless in saving his best friend over and over again.

---------

"Yo, pal. We're closing up. Time to go." The barkeep snaps McCoy out of his trip down memory lane. Grumbling about poor customer service, he slaps down some money for his tab, and shuffles out of the bar into the night. Looking up at the stars, McCoy feels no comfort from them anymore.

One year. It's almost been an entire year since Jim's death. Hell, it's been almost a year since he last went into space. McCoy scoffs to himself and thinks that Jim would probably call him pathetic. He had been on the Enterprise for a year with Jim as a captain, and had more adventures and lifetime stories then he did in his whole life not on the Enterprise. McCoy idly wonders if this was it for his life. It didn't get much more then this. He wonders if it's a bad thing that he doesn't really care.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, McCoy heads back towards his apartment. Tomorrow was another day.


Mitchell was a good kid. On board his father's spaceship, he obeyed the rules and always did as his father told him. But for once, Mitchell was too curious to follow his father's orders to stay away from the stranger they'd picked up. His father had told him that he was a drifter or traveler of sorts. He was hitching a ride with them, and working as a maintenance man to earn his keep.

Peering into the tiny closet of a room they'd give the him, Mitchell watched the traveler pick through his belonging from the small duffel bag he carried. The traveler was tall, and thin, unlike Mitchell's father who was rather stout and round. His hair, blonde in color, was dirty and slightly greased back, and his chin had a bit of a fuzz on it from where he hadn't shaved recently. Mitchell idly rubbed his own chin, wishing he was old enough to grow hair there.

The traveler was dressed in ragged clothing to match his rugged looks. Black well worn pants and boots that looked as if they'd been taped and glued together too many times. He wore a heavy leather-like jacket, which had been stitched together in many places. Mitchell wondered if someone gave it to the traveler, because it was far too big for a man his size.

The traveler eventually shrugged off the oversized jacket, and Mitchell's eyes widened at the number of scars that littered the traveler's arms and the brief amount of back Mitchell could see from where the beat up tank-top didn't cover his shoulders. Mitchell wondered how he'd gotten all those scars. His father always said, with every scar there was a story. So the traveler must have a lot of stories to tell.

Mitchell eyes widened even further when the man pulled out a folded shirt from his duffel bag. Despite it's torn and dirtied appearance, the traveler held it carefully, almost lovingly. He stroked the golden fabric between his fingers, looking at it sadly. Mitchell has seen that kind of shirt before.

The traveler snaps his gaze towards the doorway, and Mitchell gasps when he knows he's been caught spying. The traveler doesn't appear to be angry though, and he smiles easily at Mitchell.

"Hey there kiddo. What's your name?" The traveler greets, folding the shirt back up again. Mitchell hesitantly smiles back.

"Mitchell." He says, but he doesn't look at the stranger. Instead he looks at the shirt with unmasked curiosity. "That's a Starfleet shirt. Isn't it?" Mitchell blurts out.

The traveler is at first slightly surprised by Mitchell's straight forwardness, but just chuckles in reply. "Sure is."

"Where did you get it? Did you steal it?" Mitchell hops onto the traveler's fold-out cot, deeming the man safe and interesting enough.

"Hahaha, no. I'm a part of Starfleet. Or….I use to be." The traveler sits down next to Mitchell, letting the boy hold the shirt.

"Use to be? Did you get fired?" Mitchell feels the fabric between his own fingers, and wishes he had a shirt like this of his own.

"Nah. I've just been away for a long time. I'm trying to get back to them now." The traveler shrugs off his worn boots, smiling at Mitchell the entire time. "I use to be a captain, ya know. The best ship in the whole galaxy!"

Mitchell thinks it probably wasn't as good as his father's ship, but he doesn't want to argue with the traveler. Instead he wants to hear more about the man. "What's your name?"

"Jim. Nice to meet you." And the traveler, now Jim, holds out his hand for Mitchell to shake. Mitchell thinks Jim even more awesome because he's treating him like an adult, not some little kid.

Mitchell's father said the traveler was sketchy and that Mitchell should say away from him because he could be dangerous. But Mitchell knows Jim isn't like that. Jim's eyes, blue like the sky on Earth, tells Mitchell that Jim is really a good guy.


Don't forget to REVIEW!!! More reviews = More Inspiration = Faster Updates. (and actual reviews are better, not just ones that say 'plz update' which mean nothing to me)