Idiot, Jim thought.

In his impulsive rush to the bathroom, he'd been thinking mostly about relieving his bladder and taking himself out of Pike's line of vision. He'd thrown off the light sheet he'd been covered with, and slunk as unobtrusively as possible across the room, locking the bathroom door behind him. It wasn't until he'd washed and was about to exit that he stopped to consider where his clothes might be, and how he could get to them without drawing too much attention to himself.

In ordinary circumstances, he wasn't overly burdened by modesty, but the last thing he wanted was for Pike notice him and call him over while he was clad only in his underwear. He had a feeling that the conversation was going to be uncomfortable enough, as it was.

He leaned back against the sink, considering. He vaguely remembered changing from his cadet uniform when he first came on board the ship, dragged by McCoy into an unoccupied storage room. At that point, his higher mental faculties were barely functioning, and whatever brainpower he had was mostly engaged in trying to stay upright and see straight without vomiting. McCoy had whipped out a pair of black pants and a matching shirt from his own personal baggage, and efficiently helped Jim into them, cursing him out the whole time. "Jackass…Don't have time for this kind of distraction…Don't fall down, you pigheaded fool! Put your arm through here and stop moaning…"

Jim had no idea what McCoy had done with that cadet uniform, and even if he knew, he wasn't particularly interested in finding it. He didn't relish appearing before Pike in his rumpled reds, underscoring the lowly rank he should have been holding. He had a vague hope that what was left of his borrowed clothes, except for the torn shirt, might still be near the bed where he'd removed them the day before. On the other hand, McCoy might well have decided to take the clothes away, in an effort to keep him in Medbay until he was properly released. If the clothes weren't there, he'd have to consider his next move.

Time to do something, one way or the other. "Open," he called at the door, and the doors hissed apart obligingly.

To his surprise, he found himself face to face with Uhura, who was standing next to his biobed, directly across from him.

Uhura looked distinctly unenthusiastic at finding him—shit, again—dressed only in his briefs in front of her. Jim groaned inwardly. Her low opinion of him was not likely to improve with the conversation they were about to have.

Still, he needed a hand, and she was available. He wondered if she could be persuaded to find some medical scrubs for him, if his clothes weren't there. Of course, she'd probably want to know why he didn't just come out himself and get his own clothes, which was not something that he wanted to explain.

So he smiled at her with charm and nonchalance—or at least, he hoped that was what he was conveying. He took a step toward her, stopping just before the door frame, still inside the bathroom. "Uhura! Just the person I wanted to see!"

Judging from the look on her face, she didn't reciprocate the sentiment. In fact, she was looking him up and down with a frown.

"Kirk! I mean, Captain…" she corrected herself, somewhat reluctantly, and Jim nodded in approval. Until Pike told him otherwise, he was still technically Acting Captain. "I didn't know you were awake. I mean, Spock said that you were still here. Unconscious," she said pointedly.

"I woke up," he said, feeling absurdly that he should apologize. She had obviously expected to look in on him while he slept. "Uh…do you need something, Uhura?"

"I was wondering how you were," she said simply.

"You came to visit me?" He was touched. He knew that she had never liked him or his cocky attitude, and had never bothered to get to know him or shown the slightest interest in doing so.

"Well, you looked pretty beat up when you left the Bridge."

They looked at each other awkwardly.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You look a little pale."

He flushed. "I'm fine. Look, Uhura, do you think you could—"

"Wow, look at your neck," she said, taking a step closer. "It's all black and blue. And you sound terrible."

"Comes from being choked," he said. "More than once," he added, so she wouldn't think he was blaming Spock for all the damage.

"Your hand is wrapped."

"I have a metacarpal fracture."

"And your chest is all bruised."

"I realize that." He was becoming a little embarrassed under her direct scrutiny. Did he really look that awful?

"Is there something wrong with your back?"

"Uh, what makes you think that?" Very smooth, Jim.

"What are all those bandages for?"

"It's the latest style, Uhura. What do you think they're for?" he said in exasperation. "Look, you probably think that I make a habit of talking to people half naked, but really, I was about to get dressed. Do you see my clothes anywhere?" She smiled at his discomfiture, but looked around helpfully. He was relieved when she quickly located his clothes, neatly folded on a shelf below the biobed.

"Why don't you come get them yourself? Are you hiding in there?"

"Why would I hide?" he asked innocently, quickly pulling on the cleaned pants and socks. The ruined shirt was gone, but no matter. Feeling more confident, he finally exited the lavatory, glancing sideways toward Pike's bed, where McCoy was now involved in a low-voiced discussion with Pike. Good.

"Thanks, Uhura. It was nice of you to come down. I'm sure you're very busy…"

"I'm off duty. The engineers are working around the clock, though. We're using the auxiliary bridge so they can repair the cracked hull."

He nodded. She was looking at him strangely, as if she wanted to ask him something. He waited, but she didn't say anything.

"Where's Gaila?" he said finally, feeling that someone had to break the awkward silence. "You two rooming together here, too?" he asked with a grin.

Her face suddenly turned stony and her mouth tightened. "Kirk…" she said hesitantly, "Gaila was on the Farragut."

"She was on the…" he repeated dumbly. He shook his head. "No. No. Are you sure? Maybe she—"

"I'm sure. The ship was destroyed by the Romulans."

Nyota watched the smile on Kirk's face crumble. He looked shocked. It was an honest, open expression of pain that hurt for her to look at. It was such a contrast to his usual confident façade that she was speechless.

She had never given Kirk credit for much depth of feeling. He always seemed so smug and unflappable; even when she brushed him off, time and time again, it didn't seem to register.

From all she had seen of Kirk's behavior over the years, and from what she had heard of his reputation, he wasn't emotionally involved with any of the women he dated, including Gaila. He was a fun time, a romp, a wild ride…but not a relationship per se. For the most part, when she thought of him, which didn't happen that often, she saw him as irritating, arrogant, and superficial. That kind of man didn't interest her at all.

Insensitive jerk, she'd decided. Shallow as a frying pan and not worth the energy.

Their first meeting had been pretty indicative of everything that came later. Kirk was an irrepressible flirt who wouldn't take no for an answer. And yet, even then, she had recognized his intelligence and intensity. There had been a spark of sorts between them, even as she rebuffed him. It intrigued her, but she'd had no interest in a one-night fling with a townie-going-nowhere.

She had been appalled at the casual way he had goaded the huge cadet who had come to her "defense." It struck her at the time that Kirk had sought the fight almost intentionally, as if he were looking for an opportunity to prove his mettle.

Later, she wondered if there hadn't been something darker in his actions, a sort of self-destructive, punishing edge. It was as if he didn't care what happened to him as long as he could strike back.

"I'm so sorry."

"It is not your fault."

"Kirk was wrong to say those things to you," she told Spock. "I've known him for years, and I've seen him do it before. He was just trying to provoke you, for his own reasons. He doesn't know you at all, and what he said doesn't mean anything."

"He is a singularly determined man. And he was proven correct in the end."

"No, Spock. He had no right to say anything about your mother. I don't care what crazy plan he had in mind, he should have found another way!"

She was being petty and vindictive, she knew. Yet instinctively she could feel that it was easier to feel angry and vengeful than emotionally devastated. It seemed to ease the grief. She knew that she was being irrational, trying to blame all of Spock's hurt on the little part that Kirk had caused. But Kirk had used Spock's tragedy to cause him pain on a personal level, and that was unforgivable, she felt.

"There was no time, Nyota."

His calm irritated her. "That's an explanation, not an excuse. I know that he hurt you. Why should you defend him?"

"You are choosing to focus on those aspects of his character which suit your view of him as arrogant and self-centered."

"Because that's what he is. Usually. In my experience."

Spock was quiet for a moment, closing his eyes. She ached to see him so tired, so vulnerable, and yet she didn't want to leave him alone. At length he looked at her again, raising his hand to caress her hair. "I cannot agree. There is more to him than that, and you are doing him a disservice."

"How can you be so forgiving?"

He shook his head. "You must understand this. It is not a question of forgiveness. My assessment of his performance has changed, as has my interpretation of his actions. He is not so one-sided as you would like to believe."

"He got lucky," she said stubbornly. "I'm not trying to take away from the fact that he saved the ship. God, he saved the planet. I know that. But I don't have to like him."

"Nyota, I am a scientist. I am trained to re-evaluate my conclusions in the face of new information, without regard to my personal preferences as to what that information tells me. You would be wise," he admonished gently, "to do the same."

She felt ashamed. He, who had lost nearly everything, was trying to help her gain perspective.

What new information was he talking about?

I sure hope you know what you're doing, Captain, she had told Kirk. So do I, he answered. She had been so angry with him at that point that she had felt vindicated to see the look of hurt flash over his expression.

He had recovered quickly. To her surprise, he hadn't shown any of the self-righteousness or conceit that she had expected. He'd just opened the ship's intercom and made a matter-of-fact announcement about the change in command. Then he explained his plan and calmly asked for input from the bridge crew. This Kirk-in-command had been different: intense and self-assured as usual, but less brash, less abrasive, more willing to listen to others. He had actually inspired confidence in her that, somehow, they would make it out of the hopeless situation alive.

For the first time, she considered that he might not have provoked Spock out of spite or arrogance, but out of cold desperation.

When Spock had returned to their discussions, she remembered, Kirk hadn't seem surprised. He'd just listened to Spock's proposal and responded to it—"Then I'm coming with you"—as if he hadn't said those horrible things to Spock and as if Spock had never tried to choke the life out of him just an hour earlier.

What did that mean? And what did Spock see in him, even then, that she didn't?

She needed to see Kirk, talk to him. Figure him out.

She couldn't see Kirk's face. He had turned away from her and his right hand, clenched in a fist, was pressing hard against the bathroom wall. His head was bowed and he was breathing fast.

Although he must have been aware at some level that the other starships had been destroyed in orbit over Vulcan, she imagined that he had been so busy since then that he hadn't really had time to reflect on what it meant, and who had been involved. He'd also been in Medical all night, removed from the small clusters of off-duty cadets who had gathered in the Rec, reviewing personnel lists and beginning the sad process of mourning.

"Who else?" he said in a low, hollow voice, still facing away from her.

Nyota sighed and began reciting the long list of names that she'd already committed to memory. It was shocking to realize that most of their cadet class, with whom they'd lived in intense proximity for the past three years, was gone—just like that. It wasn't something that you could take in and process easily.

"I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you," she said, looking at him uneasily.

She half-hoped he would turn around and make some sort of cynical joke. That would have been easier for her, and more in keeping with what she considered to be his character. Then she could have given him another one of her usual disdainful looks and stalked off in disgust. But here he was, dazed and upset.

She looked at the silent, grief-stricken man in front of her helplessly. She wasn't sure what to do, and watching him in his pain seemed intrusive and unkind. But Kirk slowly straightened his shoulders, wiped a hand hastily over his eyes—Was he crying?—raised himself to his full height, and turned around.

"Thank you, Uhura," he said evenly, looking straight at her.

"Close and lock," he murmured, and the bathroom door closed, shutting him out.

Maybe Spock had been right. She'd have to change her estimation of him.