Chapter Three

It had been a long day. No matter where he went, he could feel their eyes following him, was acutely aware of the sense of mourning that had settled over his silver lady. He had tried to do what he could; console those who had spoken to him, offer silent support to others, but now he was just plain bone weary, and more than a little concerned about one soul in particular. They had all suffered a profound loss this day, but none more so than one Leonard McCoy. He had been closer to the captain and first officer than anyone on board, and was one crewmember whose critical skills would be needed in the days and weeks to come. Scott felt compelled to check on the man; make sure he would be able to get past this loss and still be able to function, but even more importantly, now that the third-in-command had been thrust into this position of responsibility for the 430 individuals aboard this vessel, he needed someone whose judgment he could trust; someone who would offer sound, unbiased counsel no matter the situation. And he was certain that, more so than any other officer aboard, McCoy could provide him with this.

Pausing outside the surgeon's quarters he took a deep, cleansing breath, wiping a fatigued hand across his face before ringing the buzzer to the man's cabin.

"Come." The hesitant reply was muffled by the closed door between them.

Scotty entered to find the doctor ensconced behind his desk, hands clasped loosely in his lap, the room dimly lit.

"Have a seat, Scotty," McCoy said, gesturing to the empty chair. Scott slipped in without a word. "I'd offer you a drink," the CMO continued wearily, "but I locked all my booze away. I'm afraid once I start I won't be able to stop, and being drunk to the point of oblivion is a luxury I just can't afford right now."

Scotty nodded in agreement. It was a notion he'd struggled with as well over the last few hours. The mantle of command was already weighing heavily on his shoulders, and that burden was about to get heavier still.

"I came to ask a favor of ye," he began, satisfied that he'd already received an answer to the primary concern that had brought him here.

"Shoot. I'll do my best to help, if I can."

"I'd like ye to say a few words at the service tomorrow," he asked, eyeing the surgeon warily.

McCoy sighed heavily, puffing out his cheeks, a hand running through hair that was already unruly, as if this gesture had been repeated many times during the previous hour.

"I kinda thought that's what this was about. And I've already decided, I owe them that much at least. I'll do my best, Scotty," he said, meeting the Scotsman's gaze squarely, "But I can't guarantee I'll be able to keep it together for long."

"I'm not plannin' on a long memorial – twenty minutes or so at the outside. I think draggin' it out will unnecessarily upset the crew. There's just too much at stake right now. We can't afford not to have everyone operatin' on all thrusters."

"I agree. I've already got things set in place to offer grief counseling for those crewmen who feel they'll need some help getting past this."

"Thank ye, Doctor. I knew I could count on ye to ensure the welfare of the crew." Now it was the Scotsman's turn to pause, lips pursed, forehead lined with concentration. "Unfortunately, there's somethin' else I need yer help with." McCoy didn't say a word, his gaze steady, unswerving as he waited for Scott to continue. "Command just contacted me a short while ago; seems my position as captain is to be made permanent."

"Is that what you want, Scotty?" McCoy asked quietly.

"What I want is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is we're at war, an' right now command-level personnel are at a premium. Even were I to turn down the assignment, they'd be hard-pressed to find someone qualified to take the job. They also realize that the loss of our command team was a tremendous blow to everyone on board, an' they'd rather have someone the crew is already familiar with assume command."

"For once, I have to agree with the muckety-mucks. It'll be a much easier transition for everyone involved. But I don't understand – how do I fit in?"

Scott turned serious eyes onto the surgeon. "Over the last year, ye provided Jim Kirk with sound advice an' counsel, an' weren't afraid to make yer opinion known, even if it flew in the face of what ye knew he wanted to hear." Scott paused, locking eyes with the surgeon. "I'll need that same kind of moral support. Can I count on ye for that?"

McCoy pressed a fist to his chin, the blue eyes swirling with doubt. "I'm flattered, Scotty, but I'm just an old country doctor. Jim relied on Spock's opinion just as much as mine, more so sometimes, in fact."

"Aye, an' I'm plannin' on doin' the same, but I'll need yer help, too – if ye're willin' to provide it."

"That will depend on who your XO is. He or she may not want me meddling in things, particularly since I'm not a line officer. Any idea who it'll be?"

"Command insisted I promote someone from within. Right now, I only see one possible choice."

"Sulu?" McCoy asked uncertainly. "He's probably the most experienced officer aboard who's qualified for the job."

"Aye, he was one of my top two as well, but given the situation, I'll need his experience an' expertise at the helm. Over the course of this war, we're likely to find ourselves doin' battle quite a bit. An exceptional pilot will be worth his weight in gold."

"Then who?"

"I was thinkin' DeSalle. The captain an' Mister Spock had already selected him as the Enterprise's REFLEX* candidate. They obviously saw potential in him, an' since he was already bein' groomed as a First Officer, he'll just be takin' the job a few years early."

"DeSalle hadn't even crossed my mind," the doctor admitted, "but now that you say it, he's the perfect choice – talented, gifted, experienced in a number of areas, level-headed, well-liked by the crew. Definitely someone you can work with. I think he'll be a good fit."

"My thoughts exactly." The two fell silent for a moment, before Scott clambered to his feet. "I'll go get in touch with Command, submit his candidacy an' see what they say. Good night, Doctor," he remarked, heading for the door.

"Good night, Scotty. Well, I guess I'd better start thinking about what I'm gonna say tomorrow," McCoy replied softly.

Scott stopped, turning to glance at the CMO once again. "Thank ye, for everythin' Leonard," he said earnestly, his face softening into a look of gratitude, before tripping the sensor and disappearing into the brightly-lit corridor beyond, once again leaving McCoy alone with his thoughts.

oooOOOooo

The Lexington and Excalibur had arrived as scheduled, and the transition of power on Organia had gone smoothly. The Enterprise was now en route to Earth as ordered. Scott waited behind the podium, McCoy seated to his right behind him, as crewmen slowly filed into the ship's chapel.

Lieutenant Vincent DeSalle had been approved as the new First Officer, and Scott had presented the proposed advancement in his duties to the young man several hours ago. He'd been hesitant at first, but had accepted the position. The two of them had decided not to tell the crew about their new assignments until after the remains of their current Captain and First Officer had been delivered to their families; until the promotions had been made official by Command. To them, it just didn't seem fitting to publicly claim those titles while the bodies of those who had preceded them were still on board.

Rousing himself from these thoughts, Scott noticed that all the seats were full, the video link up and active, broadcasting the service throughout the huge ship. His eyes settled on DeSalle, Sulu and Uhura, seated together in the front row. Chapel was off by herself, standing near the door, almost as if she thought she might need to make a hasty retreat from the proceedings.

Scott looked at the sea of faces, many already visibly upset, waiting expectantly for him to begin, and he took a deep breath in preparation.

"Thank ye for bein' here today," he said without preamble. "This service is to pay tribute to Captain James T. Kirk an' Commander Spock, the finest command team in the fleet. Their absence will be keenly felt, not only on this ship, but throughout Starfleet. The only thin' I can say is that they gave their lives valiantly, in performance of their duties, an' I know neither woulda wanted it any other way. They wouldna have believed their sacrifice was in vain, an' neither should we. We're not here to debate the wisdom of their choice, but rather celebrate the lives of two men who were the very embodiment of what it means to serve.

"We have much to learn from them, about what it means to be an officer in Starfleet, about sacrifice, an' about friendship, an' we can only aspire to the examples they set. This comin' war with the Klingons promises to be a long an' arduous one, an' each of us must be prepared, as they were, to make the ultimate sacrifice in order to support the greater good. Ye can bet that neither went down without a fight, an' that right until the very end they refused to compromise their principles. Each of us must be prepared to do the same, with the ultimate goal of makin' this war as short-lived as possible, an' approach it prudently with respect to lives lost. We've already paid with some of our dearest blood, so if there's anythin' we can do to effectively cut down on the duration of this conflict then we are obligated, are duty-bound to do it. We expected no less of them, an' they would expect no less of us. Let's make them proud, an' show them we learned the lessons they taught us well. Let's carry on the legacy they began, that this ship an' her crew are the finest in the fleet. Ladies an' gentlemen, we owe them that much at least."

Heads were nodded in agreement around the room, a few "aye, sirs" and "we will, sirs" thrown in for good measure. Scotty relaxed slightly. Command was a job he didn't particularly want, but if it was being imposed upon him, he could think of no better crew to help him meet the challenge. Despite what had happened, they'd all get through this together.

"While my experience with them was mostly professional, there is one man among us who was part of their inner circle. I think it's only fittin' that he speaks to who they were as men, as individuals." Scott favored McCoy with a look of support as the surgeon approached the podium. Settling into the chair the doctor had vacated, the acting captain waited patiently for him to begin.

Pursing his lips, McCoy's quiet, measured tones soon filled the room. "Where do I start when describing a man like Jim Kirk? Vibrant, charismatic, full of life, he was a whirlwind of personality and charm who had a positive influence on everyone who came in contact with him. Our captain was one in a million – a man so perfectly suited for his chosen profession that he could no more cease doing it than stop breathing. There was a reason Jim Kirk was Starfleet's youngest captain – even the Top Brass, who are often clueless about what really matters to the rest of us peons, couldn't help but see the potential in the man. They were eager to see that potential realized; see what contribution it could make to furthering the tenets of the Federation, and the captain didn't disappoint. It was something we all saw, and felt, and experienced, and I believe it has made us better individuals in the long run. Jim Kirk may be gone, but each of us can say we had the privilege of knowing him, of working with him, of learning from him. The Klingons may have taken him from us, but they can never take that from us." McCoy paused, clearing his throat noisily, his lower lip trembling, knuckles white where they fiercely grasped the podium. After a few moments he managed to compose himself, soldiering bravely on.

"Now Commander Spock on the other hand; Spock was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. I'll be the first to admit that there were plenty of times that man got on my last nerve, but the bottom line is deep down, even though he'd never have admitted it out loud, he cared about all of us. What happened to us mattered to him, and true to his nature, he showed that with actions, not with words. He proved time and again that he'd be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice – did make the ultimate sacrifice – to ensure the safety of this ship and her crew, and to uphold the principles of the Federation. It is my firm belief that during their weeks of captivity our First Officer did everything in his power to protect the captain as well." The vision of the bruised and battered body swam before his eyes and he stopped, choking back a sob. "The fact that he may have failed in the end in no way diminishes the selfless act itself. If there's one thing that could be said about Commander Spock it's that he wasn't a selfish man. That everything he did was in pursuit of protecting and promoting the greater good, of ensuring the continued existence of those around him, even at his own expense. I doubt there's another being alive who could make the same claim. He may have been a mystery to us, but it's no mystery as to where we all stood with him. Each and every one of us was more important to him than his own life and that's the epitome of self-sacrifice.

"As to what each of them meant to you, personally, that's something you'll have to decide for yourselves, in the privacy of your own thoughts. As for me, I'll miss them both, more than I care to admit, but I can take comfort in the fact that my life was enriched just for having…known them," he finished softly, his voice cracking painfully on the last few words.

Sobs could be heard throughout the room, noses being blown, throats being cleared; eyes were dabbed at with tissues, wiped unceremoniously on the backs of sleeves. DeSalle stood suddenly. "Ten hut," he called, and everyone jumped to their feet, Scott included, eyes downcast, heads bowed. "Dismissed," he announced after a respectable amount of silence, and the room began to empty.

Scotty came to stand beside McCoy, who was clinging to the podium as if it were a life-raft adrift in frigid, stormy seas, head bowed, shoulders trembling slightly. Unsure of what to say, the engineer simply laid a compassionate hand on the man's forearm. McCoy looked up, his eyes red, puffy. "Was that okay, Scotty?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Aye," the Scotsman confirmed, a gentle smile creasing his brow. "Ye did good, Leonard."

oooOOOooo

The next two days passed uneventfully as the crew gradually came to grips with their loss. Scott noted with some satisfaction that the small talk and banter which had been a staple on the bridge during times of routine activity had begun again. People were laughing and joking with one another, and Uhura had started singing softly to herself again as she worked, a sure sign that the healing process had begun.

They were scheduled to reach Earth within the hour. Lieutenant Commander Giotto would be handling the prisoner transfer, while he and DeSalle met with senior personnel from Command in order to have their promotions and new postings finalized. That left the discharging of the bodies to their family members. Both mothers had asked to speak with a representative from the ship, and Scott had approached McCoy yesterday with the request. "Ye knew them better than anyone. If they have questions about their sons, odds are ye're the only one who can provide them with the answers they're seekin'. Do ye think ye're up to the task?" he'd asked.

He smiled to himself as he thought of the reply: A frown had touched McCoy's face, the man folding his arms across his chest: "As long as they don't plan on shooting the messenger; or the delivery boy; or whatever the hell the politically correct term is for a harbinger of death these days," the ship's surgeon had answered curtly.

Scotty's thoughts sobered quickly. He knew the flippant remark had hidden a deeper pain; that he had asked much of the doctor; perhaps more than the man would be able to give. True to his word, though, McCoy had agreed, despite the personal cost to himself.

oooOOOooo

Stop fidgeting, McCoy, he told himself angrily. He had been in a room located on one of the upper levels of an administration building at the Academy, waiting about twenty minutes now for his two friends' mothers to arrive. It had been decided to have the meeting here, rather than on the ship – it would afford the women more privacy, and would hopefully prevent them from asking to see the bodies. Jim's would have been okay, but just as he had done with Chapel, McCoy wanted to spare Spock's mother the pain of seeing the state her son's body was in. Even though he had never met the woman, he knew without question that it would be unbearable for her.

He'd been more than a little nervous about this meeting, dreading it, in fact. Scotty had informed him that Kirk's mother would likely be in a particularly fragile state. Her eldest son had been killed as well, a little over a week ago. When it rains, it pours, McCoy thought dourly. However, he understood all too well how important this was. In spite of his own feelings on the matter, he had to convince these two women that their sons had not died in vain; that their sacrifice, the one that would now ultimately be borne on the shoulders of their families, mattered; that they left behind a crew who had respected and admired them; that they would be sorely missed. He closed his eyes, massaging his temples in an attempt to banish the tenseness that had settled there. Once again, this was something he'd do not only as a favor to Scotty, but as a way to pay homage to the special relationship he had shared with these two men. As much as it would hurt, would dredge up powerful memories he'd have to contend with later, this would be the last thing he could do for either of them.

Rising to his feet he walked over to the desk, pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe resting there. Sipping at it, he wandered to the window, overlooking the Academy grounds. Classes must have just let out for the day, he surmised as a sea of crimson flowed forth from the building across the courtyard, bubbling down the wide, stone staircase, dispersing every which way once it hit ground level. He watched the cadets, thinking about his own days here, recalling stories Jim Kirk had told him about his time at the Academy. A sudden tightness enveloped his chest, as if steel bands had been slipped around it and were being cinched down mercilessly.

A noise behind him startled him as the door swished open, admitting two middle-aged
women flanked by security personnel. One lady was clothed in a severe black dress with a stiff, high collar, the sleeves long, the bottom brushing the floor. Spock's mother, he reasoned. The dress alone conveyed the staid, aloof nature of the Vulcan people. She was not a tall woman, but carried herself regally nonetheless.

The other followed a few steps behind, her clothing more in line with the current styles of Earth. Taller than Spock's mother, he immediately saw the resemblance to Jim Kirk. The security team bowed out, the door closing quickly behind them, leaving the three of them alone. McCoy hurried over to greet the two women.

"Mrs. Kirk, Mrs. …," he stopped, flustered. In all the time he had known Spock, he'd never learned the man's surname. He was quickly set at ease as Spock's mother came to his rescue.

"Amanda, please," she said, extending her hand and favoring him with a gracious smile. "I'm afraid you couldn't pronounce the Vulcan surname." He grasped it, shaking it warmly, liking her instantly. Spock would've been a helluva lot more fun if he'd been more like her, he thought to himself.

"Winona Kirk," the other lady announced, reaching for McCoy's hand as well. "Doctor McCoy, I take it? Shall we sit?" she said, gesturing to a low couch along the near wall.

So much like Jim, he thought immediately as the three of them made their way to the regulation furniture. That 'take charge' attitude. Must be where Jim got it, he mused silently, seating himself in a chair across from the women.

An awkward silence settled over the room, everyone at a loss for words. McCoy took it upon himself to break it. "First off, I'd like to say how sorry we all are for your losses. Mrs. Kirk, if it's not too presumptuous of me, we were informed of the passing last week of your other son. You have my deepest condolences, ma'am. This is more than any mother should have to contend with."

Winona acknowledged the sentiment with a slight nod of her head, Amanda reaching out and grasping her hand. Winona covered it with her own and the two mothers' eyes met, a silent message passing between them.

McCoy continued hesitantly. "The new captain and first officer asked me to pass on their regrets that they couldn't be here today. They're being sworn in to their new positions, so I guess you're stuck with me," he finished weakly.

"Nonsense," Winona interjected. "Seems to me I've heard your name before. Jimmy mentioned it a few times in tapes he sent home."

"All good, I hope?" McCoy asked somewhat self-consciously.

"He said you were a good friend, and he trusted your advice, just like he trusted Mister Spock's." A frown of concentration creased her brow. "What was that nickname he had for you?"

"Bones," McCoy squeezed out, the tightness migrating from his chest to his throat.

"Yes, that was it. So what can you tell us about our sons?" she asked, handily dismissing the small talk.

"Well, they were the finest command team in the fleet, honored and respected by their crew—"

"No, that's not what I meant," Winona interrupted forcefully. "I meant, what can you tell us about our sons; about the men they were?"

McCoy chewed his lower lip, straightening in his chair. "Despite their obvious differences in personality, they were the best of friends."

"That's more than I knew," Amanda remarked in hushed tones. "Like all Vulcans, Spock kept his personal relationships very close to the chest. I spent the last eighteen years wondering if he'd finally found acceptance, and friendship. I knew of the more public aspects of his life – his promotions, commendations and such – but little to nothing about the personal side. I'd like to hear more about this part of him."

"I'd like to hear more as well," Winona chimed in. Jimmy mentioned Spock; that he considered him a close friend, not just a first officer, but not in great detail."

Two sets of eyes bored into McCoy. He tried to oblige them. "I'm not sure I can explain it – it was a rather unconventional friendship, between two very different people: Jim warm, outgoing, charismatic, impulsive; Spock quiet, reserved, very buttoned-up and methodical in his approach to things, but they couldn't have been closer. They were able to see past their differences and find the things they had in common; loyalty, devotion to duty, Starfleet and their crew, but most importantly compassion. They each – in their own way, of course – cared deeply about those around them. Duty is what drew them together initially, but as it turned out, it was their differences that bound them, each to the other. Each was able to learn from the other; to draw on those qualities he didn't possess, but were an integral part of the other. In a way, it made them stronger together than they were separately. They were almost like brothers – had their disagreements, sometimes heated, but were always able to put those aside and focus on their respect and admiration for each other."

"It kinda makes sense," Winona whispered. "When they were boys Jimmy and Sam, my oldest, were like two peas in a pod, but as they grew, their interests diverged, and they drifted apart somewhat. It seems fitting that he gained with Spock that which he had lost with his own brother."

"Unfortunately, Spock never had that kind of bond. He was never accepted by his peers on Vulcan. Growing up as a hybrid was a difficult, lonely path for him. It gives me peace, and great joy, to know that he had finally found friendship, and acceptance." Amanda favored McCoy with a questioning look. "You seem to know so much about my son, Doctor. Were you Spock's friend, too?"

McCoy couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Spock and I had a very unique relationship to one another. I'm not sure I'd call it friendship in the way he and Jim were friends, but despite how we grated on each other's nerves – and we did, trust me – I genuinely liked the man. I'd like to think that he felt the same." He stopped abruptly, the tightness returning.

Amanda smiled at him. "Yes, Doctor, just in the short time I've spoken with you it's plainly obvious that you and my son were very different people, but I'm quite sure he felt the same. As a rule, Spock limited his contact with people he didn't care for. The fact that he interacted with you at all outside of his professional responsibility is a sure-fire indicator that Spock considered you more than just a colleague."

"Well, he must have felt some attachment to all of us, then. I can't think of a single person he avoided on the ship, and he went out of his way to mentor promising young officers. Not that he couldn't provide firm discipline when necessary – Jim, too – but it was never ill-placed, or abused. The crew always knew where they stood with them. They respected and admired each of them because of it, not in spite of it.

"That's not to say there weren't folks who were put off by Spock's unemotional, unfeeling approach to things. At times, we were all guilty of it. Hell, I was probably more so than most, but that was the thing about Jim. To him, Spock was just Spock, and unlike the rest of us, the captain accepted him for who he was, warts and all. Jim never tried to mold Spock into something he wasn't, or couldn't be, but simply let him be, and delighted in those rare occasions when the real Spock – the side of himself he kept so carefully hidden from the rest of us – would tentatively peek out."

Amanda seemed oblivious to the tears coursing down her cheeks. She turned to Winona, squeezing the woman's hand. "Thank you."

"For what?" Kirk's mother replied, her own eyes swimming with tears.

"For raising a son who was able to accept mine for who he was, and was able to offer Spock the friendship, the camaraderie, the sense of belonging he so desperately needed. That, more than anything in the universe, puts my mind at ease with regard to what happened. It gives me a strange feeling of peace to know that his best friend was with him when the end came."

"Doctor, please," Winona said, still clinging to Amanda's hand, "What killed our sons? We have a right to know." A corresponding pressure let her know that Spock's mother felt the same.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't have an answer for you." He dropped his gaze, unable to meet their questioning eyes. "It wasn't the Klingons, if that's any consolation. It just seemed that their brains shut down, if that makes any sense." Both the doctor's eyes and Winona's were drawn to Amanda as she gasped suddenly.

Collecting herself, Spock's mother began speaking in hushed tones. "It sounds as if Spock simply willed his life to end." At their questioning looks, she attempted to clarify the statement. "Vulcans have the ability to retreat so deeply within their minds that they will die, unless led back to consciousness by a healer."

"That would explain a lot," McCoy interjected, his eyes widening.

"I don't understand," Winona said tearfully. "That explains things for Spock, but what about my Jimmy? He certainly wasn't able to do that, so why did his brain shut down, unless it was something the Klingons did to him?"

"If he was linked to Spock's mind at the instance of death, his mind would have ceased to function as well," Amanda explained softly. Two pairs of pain-filled eyes sought out McCoy's.

He licked his lips, torn between how much to reveal, and dealing with the sense of loss these two women were experiencing. "That seems plausible. It was verified under truth serum that the Klingons didn't kill them. If nothing else, Spock was extremely loyal to Jim, and I doubt he would have willed himself to die if it would have meant leaving Jim alone to deal with the Klingons. Spock wasn't selfish that way. I don't know if it means anything, ma'am," he said, addressing Spock's mother, "but their hands were clasped together when we beamed them aboard, even though they were already dead."

"That confirms it for me. Being a touch telepath, Spock didn't engage in casual physical contact with others – it made him receptive to too many alien thoughts and emotions. It just reinforces the notion that their minds were bound together at the end. But why would they choose death? Why would they abandon hope of rescue?" Her eyes met McCoy's. "Were they tortured?" Amanda asked, her voice edged with sorrow. The doctor found he couldn't lie in the face of such naked, unabashed anguish.

"Yes, I'm afraid they were, but—"

The conversation was interrupted as the door swished open, admitting the new Command Team. Gone was Scotty's familiar red engineer's tunic. He was now dressed in command gold, two solid stripes encircling his wrist, confirming his promotion to full commander. DeSalle followed at his shoulder, a broken stripe joining the solid one on his sleeve.

"Ladies, I'm Commander Montgomery Scott," the new captain began without preamble. "This is my First Officer, Lieutenant Commander Vincent DeSalle," he said, the man behind him extending his hand to the two women. "I'm sorry we were delayed, but we had some business to attend to with Command. We wish to express our deepest condolences on the loss of your sons…"

oooOOOooo

*REserve FLeet EXecutive Officer Training Program. In my 'fanon,' this is a program Kirk and Spock proposed to Command to train the next generation of starship First Officers. It is meant to offer an explanation for why DeSalle was both a navigator and scientist in season one of TOS, but the assistant Chief Engineer (complete with requisite red shirt) during season two. For a more thorough explanation of the program, see chapter one of my story 'Six Degrees of Separation.'