AN: Woah… I'm hitting the ten-chapter mile! It feels great . I am exactly 10% through this fic… Fascinating. So, actual notes: again, I am dealing with Tarsus, and this is probably the darkest chapter yet… but I swear I'll lighten up with the next one! So please enjoy the second part of Tarsus Arc and suffer along with poor Jim!

10

Hatred

Strong fingers wove through golden hair as Jim took his head in his hands and stared -an empty, clinical glare devoid of humanity- at the computer that seemed to be the sole, enormous occupant of McCoy's office; the doctor was silent by his side, arms crossed in his usual, long-suffering fashion but face twisted in a grimace that was more of concern and empathetic understanding than his signature, nearly-permanent scowl.

"…Adri Kala. Ynallie Nguyen. Nenetl Ortega. Thomas Leighton. Kevin Riley," Kirk was listing the names darkly, watching as the screen flickered, jumping from page to page as the machine tried to connect each one with its correspondent face. "All of them died recently, and circumstances were mysterious. We don't know why. We don't really know when, either. And… Starfleet wants to know who."

Leonard bit his lower lip, unconsciously drawing closer to his young friend before he could think about stopping himself; but stop he did, if only a few steps shy of hovering over his crouching figure, because he was reminded once again that despite all appearances, Jim was by no means fragile, nor was he in need of protection: he was capable, bold and ruthless, and the fact that he kept his darkest side firmly in check and leashed by his heartfelt respect of life didn't mean it wasn't part of him -he had learned to fight and steal and kill at a very young age, after all, and those things did not simply disappear at will.

"The survivors, Bones. All dead but me." Jim levelled his uncharacteristically grave eyes on his face, letting his hands fall into his own lap even as he straightened his back and stubbornly lifted his chin. "I bet I'm next."

"Over my dead corpse," the doctor growled immediately, expression dark with unspoken fury. He leaned his hip against the desk, pressed his palm flat on the shiny, polished surface right in front of the computer. "They'll have to get past the crew to touch you. And that's not happening."

Kirk smiled softly; it was brief, it was feeble, but it was there nonetheless. "Thanks, Bones."

"No sweat, kid." McCoy dipped a hand inside the old-fashioned physician white coat Joanna had bought him on shore leave and drew out a stick of sugar-free mint candies; after popping one into his own mouth, he wordlessly offered them to the Captain, who declined, feeling too worked up to eat even so small a thing. "So who do you reckon is behind these murders?"

Jim huffed, clearly aggravated, and got up, beginning to pace about the small area in front of his vacated chair in an instinctual attempt at burning down some tension. "It's him, Bones, I swear it's him."

And there was no mistaking who he was talking about. "Kodos." The doctor scratched at the back of his neck, lost in thought. Kirk had already told him most of what he'd seen when trapped in the alien's illusion, and he, too, was inclined to believe that what he had said was true: the fallen Governor of Tarsus IV was still alive. "How long till we reach Planet Q?"

Again, Jim's hand flew up to his forehead, and he massaged his temples to will away the migraine that was sure to build up sooner or later, thanks to the combination of sleep-deprivation and emotional turmoil he was enduring. "Three hours, fifteen minutes, a bunch of seconds," he said blankly. "Bones… He'll be there. He'll be there and I'll see him and damn it if I won't destroy that murderous son of a bitch!" His voice grew louder, eyes sparkling with the force of his hatred and pain. "I'll make him pay, how dare he…"

"Jim." Leonard looked down at him sternly, grasped his shoulders to steady him. "Stop right there, kid. Remember who you are and where you stand now."

Kirk took a deep breath. "I'm a mess."

"It's normal. It's human." He put particular emphasis in the word.

The young man shook his head, looking for all the world defeated and drained. "I can't be human, Bones. I'm the Captain, I can't…"

McCoy gave his young friend a little, brisk push, trying to will him into seeing some sense: "Come on, not even Spock would ask you to…"

"Spock?" At the mention of the Vulcan's name, Jim's expression closed off completely, face paling as he set his jaw stubbornly and hissed: "He doesn't know, Bones. And you can't tell him."

The doctor frowned deeply, and Kirk was surprised to note that confusion was all he was conveying. "What do you mean, he doesn't know?"

The Starship Captain blinked rapidly, took a steadying breath. "Should he?"

Now Leonard was starting to look more and more aggravated; he had released Jim's shoulders and was running his index finger in circles over his chin, tapping his foot on the floor. "The two of you… you're together, right?" he asked, even though he'd been the first to know, a week and a half before. "I mean, together, together, right?" he added, increasingly uncomfortable.

The infamous Kirk grin flitted into place momentarily: "Yeah, very much so," he drawled, just to make him squirm. Then he sobered quickly, eyes dark and intent as he fixed them on his CMO. "Bones, what's your point with…?"

McCoy interrupted him curtly: "And you never… meld?"

"No," Jim said blankly. "No, never. Spock doesn't ask, and I'm certainly not…" Now that he thought about it, it was weird… And the stormy glare Bones was currently sporting was quite worrisome. "Dammit, Jim, what do you mean he doesn't ask?" he exploded, snapping his fingers inches from his nose in his sudden rage, "That's a Vulcan! A fucking bondless Vulcan, of course he needs to…"

"Needs?" Kirk repeated, sighing as he contemplated his immediate future; perhaps it was time for him to resign to his fate and give up on bullshit love-depending relationships and emotional involvements. "As in, a biological need? Or more like an it's-fun-but-I-can-go-without need?"

The doctor's eyes flashed with that dangerous look Jim had come to associate with multiple Hypos piercing his neck and lots of dark swearing. "As soon as this mess is over I'm gonna have a nice little chat with that fucking idiot." He picked up a Padd and wrote something with sharp, angry motions. "And you!" Suddenly, he was jabbing his finger in his chest, "You should pay me more. No damn way I am obliged to give your precious goblin The Talk, but I'm going to anyways because that's how good of a friend I am."

"I'm not following," Kirk admitted in a rush, "Spock clearly doesn't want to meld. And I sure as hell don't either."

And there came McCoy's I'm-also-a-trained-psycologist-so-I-will-psycoanalise-my-way-into-your-brain look. "Why?"

Jim's sigh was slow and pained, a testimony to the hollow feeling of loss that was already threatening to engulf him. He knew, he knew he shouldn't have gotten involved… "He's not gonna like it in my mind, Bones." He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"Now that's some angsty shit you're saying there, kid." Leonard deflated, his fury evaporating as quickly as it had risen only to be replaced by a soft, caring demeanour that made Kirk want to simultaneously scream in rage and spill his heart out. Too tired to even raise his voice, he chose the latter, because after all, if he had to talk, if he had to reveal his soul-deep insecurities, to whom would he entrust them but to Bones? Really, there was… no one else.

"See, Spock and I… This thing we have… it's just a whim. It won't take too long for it to end." He returned to massaging his temples with his trembling fingers, staring unseeingly at the tightly woven fabric of his black uniform pants, seemingly engrossed with the way it folded slightly every time he bent his knee just so. "As soon as Spock discovers what I was like before… As soon as he sees the beast I was in Tarsus… The ugly stuff I did to protect my children… He'll run away for sure, and all the better for him."

Silently, McCoy drew a chair next to his and sat down so they were facing each other; he patiently waited for Jim to look at him, then spoke, quietly and with purpose: "I hate to see you like this -wallowing in your past and refusing any chance at going on." He arched one eyebrow at him, resisting the urge to shake him until his teeth chattered. "That's not the Jim Kirk I know!"

"I don't fucking understand what you..."

The doctor interrupted him firmly. "Lord forbid I say this again, but here goes… You should give the Vulcan some more credit. All these years and he's stuck to you like glue. Hell, I know damn well how many times he landed himself in my Sickbay to save your overconfident ass." He snickered softly, but it didn't reach his eyes, which stayed focused and severe. "And everyone knows just how many times he fucked up regulations on the off chance he could get you back on board. Scotty's actually keeping tabs." Another chuckle covered Jim's interested cry of "No, really?" and then he went on: "He's done things for you no Vulcan would even dare speak of. Why should this be different?"

Kirk got up slowly, leaning against the table for the fraction of a second before he set his jaw and turned his back on his friend. "Because you have no idea what it was like, in Tarsus. I told you… stuff." He took a deep breath, clenched his fists. "But other things happened, twisted, wrong things, and no one, no one, should be made to live them. Especially not Spock. He's had enough tragedy for a lifetime."

"But…"

"No, Bones. My decision is final. He mustn't know. Promise me you won't tell him."

"I don't like this one bit, kid. But yes, fine. I promise."

The gentle sounds of ancient classical music filled Rec Room III, the smallest one and Nyota's favourite because of its perfect acoustics; she sat ramrod straight at the piano, eyes closed as she played the tender, encompassing notes of Beethoven's Für Elise for her own amusement: it was her way of relaxing, of washing off that knot of tension that coiled at the back of her neck with every mission turned into a nightmare. For once, she was alone, blissfully alone -although she had grown quite accustomed by then to having a cheering crowd hovering around her whenever she touched an instrument, she relished those moments of private stillness. She had always been an early riser, and most of the crew was either working or asleep by then, which was perfectly fine by her.

She did not stop playing, did not even open her eyes to look when the soft noise of smooth, carefully-measured footsteps joined the symphony she was coaxing out of the black and white keys. She did not need to: Uhura knew well who it was, and she would wait him out. The melody drew into a crescendo of springy notes cascading quickly around them, and as she progressed towards the last sheet, she glanced to her left, at the spot he preferred to sit in when he wanted to simply listen, and of course he was there, quiet and collected and…

The music stopped abruptly before reaching its end as the woman took in Spock's expression, or lack thereof -there was nothing, nothing on his face, only an emptiness that gave a cruel impression of lifelessness and sent off all kinds of alarms in the back of her mind. She rose quickly, and the Vulcan stayed completely motionless even as the room seemed to shrink as it was flooded with her worry and discomfort.

"I did not wish to interrupt," the Science Officer said mechanically, turning his head towards her by a fraction when she sat by his side, not close enough to touch but closer than she usually did. "I merely wished to hear you play."

She was aware that music had always had a calming effect on him, so she nodded. "Computer, play Track Eleven, memory chip A-D 569, in a loop," she ordered, and soon a soft lullaby drowned the subdued growl of the engines buzzing in the background. "Something's wrong," Nyota stated with finality, in a tone that was both comforting and warning: she wasn't accepting no for an answer. "Tell me."

He must have been more tired than she'd originally surmised, because he caved surprisingly quickly, ducking his head as if in shame but wearing still that stony non-expression she so hated to see on his face. "I have been to the Sickbay. Looking for Jim." Spock's eyes were empty, too. Flat. "He was speaking to the doctor." He looked at Uhura to gauge her reaction, but she was every bit as unreadable as he, chin tilted forward infinitesimally, mouth curved into a gentle line -the perfect listening stance. "It was not my intention to spy on their conversation, but I overheard… something."

Jim's words rang through his mind cruelly, with the clarity brought by an eidetic memory. See, Spock and I… This thing we have… it's just a whim. It won't take too long for it to end. Just a whim. Won't take too long for it to end. Just a whim. He repeated them for her, and watched as her gaze hardened. "I left immediately, and yet…"

"Spock, I…" She fell silent, cutting her sentence before it could even begin -what could she say? I'm sorry? She was, but it would mean close to nothing to a Vulcan.

He entwined his fingers and rested his chin on them, staring at the wall. "Will he tire of me soon?" he mused, voice low and hollow. He left out the Like you did a human would have certainly added, because he was too polite, too disciplined to let it slip, yet still it seemed like it hung in the air, leaving a veil of muted accusation and self-doubt to settle between them.

Nyota had never told him her reasons for wanting to terminate their romantic relationship, nor did she plan on ever doing so; he would feel guilty as sin, and he didn't deserve it, to go on thinking it was his fault -well, it was, it was all his fault, but it couldn't be helped: Spock loved Kirk, they were t'hy'la, they were good for each other in ways they didn't even imagine… Silently, the communications officer raised a hand to place it on the Vulcan's back to comfort him through simple touch, but he stiffened and recoiled, refusing the contact. She let her hands drop and sighed softly. Logic, then. "I'm sure it has all to do with him, and nothing to do with you."

Spock raised an eyebrow at that, the most emotion he had expressed so far, and she counted it as a small victory. "What do you mean?" he asked curtly. Uhura sent a suspicious look in his direction: it wasn't like him to speak in such a colloquial manner.

"How much sleep did you get last night?" she demanded.

The Vulcan blinked. "Thirty-four minutes and approximately sixteen seconds." Just enough for Jim to slip out the bed and vanish from his quarters.

"And last week? How much?" Nyota insisted, disapproval radiating off her in waves that made her friend shiver slightly.

"Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans," he said defensively, straightening up even further so it looked like he had swallowed a broomstick.

"Of course," Uhura muttered, deciding to drop the subject. She didn't need to press the matter to know that he hadn't closed an eye since the chocolate incident.

"What was your meaning?" Spock insisted, fighting a lost battle against his drooping eyebrows and managing to keep a focused gaze for the time being. "How can you know Jim was talking about himself?"

"Well, first of all, I think our Captain has a lot of issues," Nyota declared matter-of-factly, turning to stare distractedly at the piano as she listed off her reasons, "Second, he's in too deep to just chicken out right now, so it makes sense to theorize he thinks you're the one who'll grow tired." A smile that was somewhere between sad and amused graced her face before she went on: "He's transparent in the way he acts around you. Perhaps he's scared of how much he loves you, don't you think? Spock?"

A warm weight against her shoulder alerted her to the fact that Spock hadn't, in fact, heard a word she had said, having chosen that moment to fall dead asleep: his twined fingers had fallen into his lap, and, though he kept his spine as straight as ever, he had turned on his side, so that now his cheek was resting on her arm. He was cute, and Uhura allowed herself one small chuckle. "Look at you silly Vulcan," she murmured quietly under her breath, "Stubborn fool."

He had a striking appearance of frailty -he seemed breakable, vulnerable, deceptively so, she was aware, yet she could not fully suppress the rush of protectiveness that nearly overwhelmed her as she sat in silence, listening to him breathe in and out and contemplating just how hard his life had been so far; he had suffered too much, he had lost his mother, his planet, his culture, his identity, and Kirk… Kirk wasn't making things any easier, really.

She didn't have much time to ponder the matter, because scant minutes later the Captain himself peeked his head through the sliding doors, looking around with overly bright blue eyes. "Uhura, have you seen…" He trailed off as soon as his gaze landed on the sleeping Vulcan, and for the fraction of a second a cold, hard emotion crossed his face, but it was fleeting and difficult to recognise and gone in a flash. He tiptoed towards them, settling next to his second in command, and raised a questioning glance at Nyota.

Very gingerly, she slid one hand behind Spock's head and pushed him so he fell against Kirk's side, careful of not waking him. "All yours," she said in a light tone, though her eyes spoke volumes, and Jim frowned at her even as his arms went around the Vulcan's slim waist. "What…?" he began in a whisper.

"How serious are you with this, Kirk?" Uhura asked point-blank, regarding him with a harsh, passionate expression that demanded honesty.

Jim looked down at Spock, threading his fingers through his dark hair to comb it back to perfection, and did not take his eyes off him as he answered: "I'm dead serious. I'm in it for as long as he is." The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but he managed a smile anyway.

"You're in it forever, then," she clarified, and it was in equal parts a warning and a blessing.

"You can't know that," he countered, "Nobody can."

She sighed, resisting the urge to yell or throw something at him. What a pair of idiots, she thought. Working together to mess up their lives as bad as they can go. "You know, Kirk, you've been more trouble than cure recently."

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," he admitted. Before she could reply, he caught the Vulcan by the shoulders and shook him tenderly, murmuring into his ear: "Spock. Hey, Spock, come on, let's get you into bed, okay? Wake up."

His eyelids fluttered open and he stared at the human occupying his entire line of sight with something akin to wonder. "Jim," he greeted, letting his Captain pull him up from his sitting position. "My apologies, Nyota," he added as he fixed his blue uniform, which had ridden up to his ribs, exposing the black thermal shirt he always wore when aboard the Enterprise. "I had not realised I was this tired."

"Well, that's not exactly news, now, Spock," she teased, moving to return to the piano. "Go on and get some rest. We won't get to Planet Q in less than three hours."

Her worried gaze followed them out.

By the time they made it to the Captain's quarters, the Vulcan was barely standing; Jim helped him out of his uniform and into the sleeping robe he had left earlier on a chair beside the bedside table, then kissed him softly on his temple, pulling away as if to leave. Spock's fingers curled around his wrist in a gentle grip -had he wanted to, he could have easily shaken them off- and drew him near. Kirk went willingly, sitting on the bed by the pillow and looking expectantly down at him.

His First Officer had closed his eyes already, and in a moment of weakness he murmured: "Do not leave, Jim?" The plea made Jim's blood run cold, so much was the pain it betrayed, and he nodded and smiled at his companion. "Of course. Of course I'll stay."

He disposed of his boots and placed one arm around the Vulcan's shoulders, letting him rest his head against his thigh and hold his right hand firmly. "That meld-thing with the alien before drained you more than you let on, didn't it?" Kirk asked, not really expecting an answer.

Spock mumbled an agreement into the fabric of his pants and tightened his fingers around the human's, mind instinctively reaching for its kin. His t'hy'la's mental presence was enough to cure the ache pounding his brain, and, quite unlike the doctor's potions, felt absolutely amazing.

"I should have had Bones visit you."

"Not necessary," the Vulcan objected drowsily, "This is sufficient."

"I see. Sleep now, baby." Once again, Jim carded his fingers through that tauntingly flawless bowl cut, watching Spock absentmindedly as he finally relaxed, features softening in unconsciousness. He loved the way the scientist would entrust himself completely to his care, loved the way he seemed to be constantly searching for his warmth, for his presence. It made him feel worthy, though he was far from it, and the Vulcan certainly gave the impression of believing that they were meant to be.

Spock and Nyota had looked good together, before, but in a weird sort of way -they just didn't fit, and she insisted on babying him too much, acting like a really scary older sister, and plus he had been so miserable when she'd ended it unexpectedly, Jim had known even if it didn't show -he'd known from a million tiny signs, from how he held himself straighter and how he blinked more than usual and how he sometimes would glance at her on the bridge then back at his own station and how he ordered Plomeek soup, his comfort food, at every meal for more than an entire week, and how when they spoke he looked like he was expecting to be struck…

When the hell had he ever been so attuned to someone? From the very beginning, he'd known that the universe fell into place if Spock was by his side. They complemented each other and it was great and unexpected and right, and how, how could he lose all that?

He tightened his hold around the Vulcan, sliding further down the bed so he could pull him against his chest; Spock huffed a little, shifted until he could burrow his cold nose into the juncture of Jim's neck, and the human shivered, sighed. No way. No way I'm losing it. No fucking way.

"Transfer of supplies planet-side is going smoothly, sir," Sulu said, looking down at his instruments with his usual aplomb, "45% of cargo already unloaded."

The Enterprise was safely docked near the one rapidly growing city, and for once her wide view screen opened not in front of endless skies, but above a splendid expanse of drying earth, made darker by the plumbeous clouds looming low, promising rain to wash away the scent of death which had threatened to settle over the buddying colony of Planet Q. Kirk looked upon the landscape with eyes as deep and stormy as an ocean, full of memories that blended easily with the present mission -the scenery was familiar, too familiar, and in its silence burned the cries of those who had passed, cries for vengeance, for justice…

The Captain nodded curtly and turned towards his helmsman, offering a grin that was perhaps a little forced -he knew no one would call him out on this- and clapped his hands once. "Wonderful job, Sulu, Chekov!"

Pavel smiled a little -though he was well over the age of twenty, he still had dimples on that shy, witty face of his- but Hikaru gave him a calculating look before shifting his attention back to the task at hand.

At the Science station, Spock sat perfectly still, no sign of his exhaustion evident if one did not count the subtle way with which he leaned his full weight on his chair, and Jim chuckled under his breath at the sight, exchanging an amused glance with Nyota, who could not suppress a small snort. The Vulcan's head whipped to the side and he gave her a sharp, murderous glare that she ignored with practiced composure. Kirk's laughter loudened then: his eyes lit up and the stiff set of his shoulders became less tense, and Spock's glare reflexively melted away into a raised eyebrow, his lips curving upwards infinitesimally as he submitted to being the butt of the joke.

The Captain smirked, clearly pleased -God, he loved his crew. He felt something inside grow warm at the thought of how much he'd accomplished -how much they'd accomplished; the thought of what the world had expected him to become (wasted, lost, angry, delinquent) and what he was now, standing among people who were both loyal colleagues and trusted friends, making fun of his First Officer, the gentlest soul to ever cross the galaxy.

A loud beeping from Uhura's station was enough for the easy mood to vanish. "It's a distress call! They're hailing us from the city." The communications officer bit her lip pensively, a frown on her face as she relayed the message: "They need a small team for a rescue mission."

Kirk's eyes narrowed, and he brought thumb and forefinger to caress his chin, deep in thought: "Details, Lieutenant."

Nyota nodded briskly. "One man, Anton Karidian, led a team of volunteers inland for exploration. They request we fetch them as soon as possible."

"Anton Karidian?" Jim repeated the unfamiliar name, raising from his chair and moving to stand behind her. "A scientist?"

"Negative, sir." Spock had obviously started researching, and was reading quickly from the computer. "An actor. Arrived at the colony five point eleven weeks ago, began his acting career thirteen years ago."

The Captain crossed his arms, and his First Officer tilted his head to the side to observe him, examining how his usually golden energy seemed to burn darker, raw and dangerous, how his stance was that of a predator preparing to pounce. "Put a picture of him on screen, Mister Spock."

"Picture on screen, sir."

Everyone but the Vulcan turned their attention on the image filling the screen, looking at the magnified photo with mild interest; Spock, however, kept his gaze trailed on his t'hy'la, examining with curiosity and a growing sense of discomfort the murderous coldness etched on his beloved features, listening carefully at his heart beating faster as the human stared at the seemingly ordinary picture of Anton Karidian. There was nothing about him to warrant such a display, and yet… The half-blood could not make sense of the result of his meticulous scrutiny past acknowledging the fact that this was a man Jim most definitely did not plan on rescuing. Why?

Kirk broke his reverie by moving quickly across the bridge towards the doors of the turbolift: he was already issuing his next orders. "Uhura, call Sickbay, I want McCoy ready to join rescue party. We'll take the Galileo III, alert maintenance to have her ready on the double and send them the coordinates for Karidian's whereabouts, then report for duty. Chekov, you're with us." He took half a steadying breath. "Mister Spock…" he began, only to be interrupted briskly by the Vulcan, who in the meanwhile had made his way towards him, slowly but efficiently. "Requesting permission to join rescue party, sir," he said, staring intently at him.

A battle of wills ensued, one that Spock was determined to win -he could not, would not let Jim go alone when he was clearly so troubled, so distressed; mistakes happened all the time, did they not? He was not willing to take chances, not if his t'hy'la's life was at stake, not if neglecting to accompany him could result in him dying or being severely injured.

You said you would trust me, brown eyes communicated silently, it is time to prove it.

For a moment, the golden energy surrounding the human took on a distinctly frozen quality, the taste of refusal, of bitter fear, then he set his jaw and crossed his arms in a defensive stance, yielding to the Vulcan's request even as he made it transparent he did not welcome him by his side, not this time. Why?

"Very well. Mister Sulu, you have the conn. If we are not back within the hour, beam down a landing party of eight security guards."

"Yes, sir." Sulu went to sit in the Captain's chair, face stony, betraying nothing of his thoughts, but Nyota and Pavel exchanged a tense glance even as they followed their command team inside the turbolift.

"Is strange, da?" Chekov whispered in her ear. She nodded, watching Spock as he stood just a few inches closer than what was strictly necessary (and just a few millimetres shy of hovering) to his Captain, whose eyes were fixed into the void, steel-hard and full of cautiously-contained rage.

"Yes. Very strange indeed," she murmured back.

Spock came to with a grimace, instantly becoming aware of several things at once: first, he was sitting on a cold floor with his hands tied behind his back and to a thick metallic pole; second, Nyota was unconscious and her head was reclining against his shoulder, neck bent at a worrying angle -he shifted immediately so she slid down by two and a half inches, and turned his attention toward Third, namely the doctor, who, too, was out cold, blood dripping down his left cheek and lower lip; and fourth, most alarmingly, Jim was nowhere to be seen.

Memories of past events floated back into his slightly confused mind by bits and pieces, and he hurried to fit them together like a disturbing puzzle, one which shifted his perception of what his t'hy'la was, because if his suppositions were right (and how could they not be?), then Jim…

But he would reflect on that at a later, more appropriate time.

As it was becoming the outcome of 75.09% of their rescue missions, they had landed themselves directly into an ambush -and strangely enough this time Kirk had not seemed at all surprised to be received with such hostilities, when usually he was the last to ever suspect ill intentions. They had been engaged into a fight against ten nameless people -humans, heavily armed- and just before being stunned, Spock had seen…

He had seen a tall, bearded man -Anton Karidian- walk up to Jim and smile a wide, sadistic smile, which the Captain had answered with a snarl and an attempt to jump at his throat. And he had said…

He had called that man…

Kodos.

All this occurred to Spock in exactly 13.57 seconds. He blinked twice, looked about the place they were locked in to discover it was an enclosed area in the back of the smallest exploratory ship ever designed; no one was in sight, and there were no sounds of heartbeats or breathing except for those belonging to the two humans leaning against his sides. Gingerly, he elbowed the doctor in the ribs, and almost at once his blue eyes flashed open and he groaned a quiet curse.

"Dammit, Spock!" he hissed, "I've got a bruise the size of Minnesota right there!" He shuffled around a bit, ignoring the Vulcan's raised eyebrow, then cast a glance at Nyota -who had yet to move- and gave a sharp pull at his restraints, making the pole jiggle infinitesimally. "How is she? Can you wake her?" he asked urgently, eyeing the medi-kit laying discarded mere feet from them.

Spock cocked his head to the side so he could press his cheek against her warm forehead and closed his eyes to concentrate: "She hit her head, but is not concussed. I believe she will wake up soon." He broke the contact and focused on freeing his hands; whomever had them bound, obviously did not know precisely how strong his species was compared to humans, thus he was confident he could break the knot in less than ten minutes. "Doctor, if I could ask you some questions?"

McCoy turned his gaze on him and it morphed into a withering look: "Does it seem like the right time for a quiz?" he growled, "Shouldn't you be working on getting us the hell outta here?"

The Science Officer's eyebrow flew up and he gave a quick, condescending nod. "That is precisely what I am doing," he declared calmly, "However, as I am Vulcan, my mind can concentrate on multiple things simultaneously, an ability you have evidently yet to master." Then he added, drowning out the doctor's angry retort at his snarky remark by raising his voice a little, "I have a theory, and I wish for you to either validate or disprove it."

He slid his nail repeatedly into the rope tying his wrists together to hasten the process of weakening it, and fixed Leonard with his best this-is-a-serious-matter-and-you-will-attend-to-it look. The human shrugged, the usual air of resigned suffering about his face, but he capitulated: "Fine. Bring it on."

Spock took a slow breath through his nose, choosing to go straight to the point, avoiding the unnecessary trouble of embellishing a truth that could not, in any way, be made to appear less atrocious than it was: "Captain Kirk is the one survivor of the genocide of Tarsus IV. Is he not, doctor?"

McCoy paled, and the Vulcan noted a slight increase in the speed of his breathing, possibly due to stress; when he said nothing, seemingly torn between speaking and keeping quiet, the First Officer of the Enterprise straightened his back -the cold metal of the pole dug uncomfortably against his spine, but he ignored it- and craned his neck to the side so he could gaze intently into the human's eyes to measure his expression for clues as he listed off his reasons for making such a blunt assumption.

"He has been restless and troubled ever since we have been assigned this mission to prevent the famine on Planet Q; he has displayed all signs of a man keeping a heavy, dangerous secret; he has been preparing for battle where there should have been none; he recognised the features of Kodos the Executioner in the person of Anton Karidian." Unblinking, immobile but for his working fingers, Spock relayed his conclusion with the bearing of one who already knew he was right, and was merely seeking confirmation: "There is one way only he could have become acquainted with the Governor of Tarsus IV: by living there during the famine and surviving the genocide which followed." He paused for the fraction of a second. "Am I wrong, doctor? Am I wrong?"

Leonard was quiet for a long time, and the Vulcan held his eyes, feeling as though he was undergoing some sort of test, as though he had to earn the answer he would be granted… "Hell, Spock, so you figured it out." The human chewed on his lip, uncharacteristically indecisive, and then he shook his head in surrender: "Alright, you win, I'll tell you."

Spock nodded slowly, noticing that the first string of rope had begun to give beneath the relentless pressure of his nails. He had had no doubt that the doctor was in on the secret: he had realised soon -very soon- that to Jim, he was some sort of surrogate family (father, mother, brother when needed) an ally to whom the Captain had entrusted himself almost blindly. The Vulcan longed to share such a deep connection with his t'hy'la, but Kirk resisted him, staying closed off and distant. Why?

"Yes, Jim was on Tarsus. And before you ask, I know because he told me long ago at the Academy. He also said you really couldn't know, so please let's keep this under wraps."

"I will do no such thing, doctor," Spock hissed coldly, "I intend to address the matter as soon as we are safely on the Enterprise. Such secrecy…"

"Shut it!" McCoy growled, eyes flashing dangerously, "You are in no position to talk! How come you never meld? What's the big secret you're hiding?"

The First Officer's already pale face went stony, shuttered. "That should be of no concern to you."

"I'm your damn doctor, of course it's of my concern! Now tell me what's the matter with you and why on earth…"

"Jim would not welcome me in his mind," Spock admitted softly as he snapped his bindings with a quick jerk of his wrists. His hands went automatically around Nyota's shoulders to steady her as she immediately fell forwards; gently, he freed her and laid her with infinite care at the doctor's feet, then he moved to work on the ropes holding the CMO against the pole. "I do desire a meld. But it is quite clear that Jim is nowhere near ready for that kind of an intimate, personal connection. He does not trust me enough."

Leonard kneeled next to Uhura as soon as he could, retrieving his medi-kit in a flash; Spock watched with grudging admiration the ease and confidence with which he conducted his examination of the unconscious woman.

"He's afraid you'd bail," McCoy said curtly, preparing a Hypo for the comms officer. "That's why he didn't tell you about Tarsus."

The Vulcan, who had taken to roaming the enclosed area in search for weapons, paused for a second and frowned minutely, processing the new information: "That… would be most illogical. If anything, it would only serve to reinforce my positive regard of him." T'hy'la.

Leonard snorted. "Of course, Spock," he sneered condescendingly, voice sickeningly sweet, "Never thought the time would come when I'd see a besotted Vulcan, but there it is. Now the world is at its end."

Openly ignoring his last statement, the Commander walked to the locked door and very slowly, with a low, screeching sound of metal being crushed, forced it open enough that they could go through. Then, relinquishing the idea of being armed, he turned towards the doctor to give him his orders: "Once you have risen Lieutenant Uhura, please find the means of contacting Mister Chekov. I want the shuttle ready to leave at the shortest notice. I shall locate the Captain." He made to leave.

"Wait, Spock!" McCoy called him back, worry in his tone evident even to an impatient Vulcan; Spock dipped his head in a deliberate motion to show he understood: "There is no time."

"Be careful."

"I always endeavour to do so, doctor."

The dirt smelled exactly like last time; dry, burnt, a rich scent that went straight through his nostrils and made his blood boil, boil with the heat of a thousand ugly memories brought to the surface so quickly it was nearly dizzying. Suddenly there were faces obscuring his vision, and the cold touch of bony fingers trailing down his neck… voices calling his name. Panting, Kirk pushed himself back up on his feet, distractedly taking account of his cuts and bruises while his eyes didn't leave, even for a moment, the yellow stare of the man who had been in his life for no more than ten minutes and yet had left so permanent a mark.

Kodos the Executioner laughed cruelly as he stood waiting for him to collect himself, to attack again; he was holding a weapon that was not really a phaser, and not entirely legal either, pointed at the Captain's chest with a steady hand but a lousy grip. He shot, and Kirk fell again to the ground, grunting out a muffled cry of pain as a crude wave of electricity cursed through his veins, stealing his breath. His teeth clicked together as he set his jaw in a display of stubborn superiority and forced his legs to respond to his brain, pulling his knees under his belly -his feet scrambled helplessly for purchase for a few seconds- until he could once more raise his arms beneath his chest and push himself upright. Then he stared defiantly up at the face he so deeply despised, feeling the scorching fire of his endless hatred fill him until nothing but its demanding fury remained, burning out every other thought, everything that Jim had been before and after those months of famine and pity and pain.

"You did say you'd go down with a fight," Kodos mocked him, aiming for his wrist, maybe with the intention of breaking it; his eyes glinted in twisted delight as he saw Kirk dodge the silver beam and roll down on the grainy earth, for a moment prostrated at his feet.

"I stand by what I said," Jim growled, sliding gracefully away from his tormentor and towards the steep precipice mere meters from them. The fallen Governor followed him, drawn by his weakened, lost appearance, that act of innocence he had perfected over the years, and in doing so he distanced himself from his faithful pack of psychopaths and derelicts, from the safety of their loyal guns, walking right into Kirk's trap with every step he took.

As he crawled between sharp pebbles and blackened twigs, he smelled the dirt again (that strong, unforgiving odour surrounded him, pervading his every cell, making his guts turn and his stomach clench in an attempt to keep what little was left inside it) and just like that it was as if his aching bones, his heaving body were entirely gone, surrendered to a jumble of scenes and impressions from a past that clung to him as white dressing clung to its ancient mummy.

Serena's warm, brown eyes gently caress his own before sliding down to his hand that's feeding her a piece of charred meat from the skinny rabbit he and the kids have manged to catch; she is one year younger than Jim and about the toughest, bravest person he's ever known, a leader to her chore, but she has fallen ill, and there is no medicine, nothing they can do but watch her slowly wither out and die… she is thinner, her cheeks are hollower than any of the others', she barely stands on legs that would not support her and it's the Kelvin boy who takes her place, who carries her on his back when she cannot walk…

"You've got to leave me behind," she insists in her beautiful Indian accent and he shakes his head…

He shook his head firmly, planting his fingers into the dirt and chocking down the urge to vomit as he inched closer to the cliff. "Damn you, Kodos," he hissed, resisting the impulse to jump at his throat in a foolish move that would do nothing but kill him; if he so much as touched the man, he'd be shot by his minions. He needed to control himself and lure Karidian (How dare he take a new name, how dare he start a new life after what he'd done?) to his death, because of course he was going to kill him (he would spill his blood as he had spilled the blood of his kids). "Why this? Why now?" he rasped, as a means of distraction.

He took a calculated risk when he let Kodos's next shot successfully hit his shoulder, and he arched his back in pain as he clutched at his trembling arm and gasped, overstressing his reaction to reinforce the image of defeated weakness he wished to convey, then waited for the madman's answer, genuinely curious. Ripples of cold energy trickled through his bones, and he hissed softly, not wanting to be heard…

Jim sits surrounded by a circle of children, Serena's head resting in his lap as he tells them a story to keep their minds busy and away from the horror all around them; their eyes shine, fixed on his face with the intensity only infants are capable of, their tiny noses wrinkle occasionally when the wind brings whiffs of smoke and the smell of rotten corpses inside their little hidden cave. In the underground, in the woods, people have started feeding off the dead in their crazy desperation, but not his kids, not them, he'd sooner kill them himself… Those who have evaded Kodos's guards are perishing one by one, dying slow, painful, inhuman deaths, yet Jim has seen them, the Rich Ones, the Good Ones, those Worthy of Survival, he's seen them eat plenty and drink and don't care…

"It was about time I finished what I started," Kodos said, following the trail of blood dripping down Kirk's neck with an air of profound satisfaction. "You need be wiped from this world before I begin living again."

Jim coughed violently into the reddish sand, clenched his hands into tight fists. "You don't deserve to live again," he groaned, "Not after what you've done."

Kodos raised an eyebrow, and damn if that gesture brought all kinds of new definitions to the word wrong. Kirk hated him even more for it. "And you do? You survived because others were killed, the same as everyone else. Just like me."

The young Captain closed his eyes and tasted blood in his mouth.

He knows the story they wish to hear, it's always the same, the tale of the immense Romulan ship and of the hero who sacrificed himself to save his crew and his wife and his son, and he knows his children, his family, have begun to see George Kirk in him, and wonder if he, too, will be the hero, if he'll save them, if he'll guide them out of the famine and into a new life. They think his father was brave, that he was exceptional, but they don't understand, they don't understand that in cases like his there is simply no choice, no choice at all, when it's you or them you choose them, always…

Jim knows this as well, and tells his dad's story as if it were his.

"I'm doing this for my daughter, James Kirk," Kodos murmured, moving to kick the Captain in the ribs; he let him, and used the backlash from the hit to roll almost on the edge of the precipice: stealing a glance down, he felt a rush of adrenaline at the sight of what awaited him, but it was fleeting and meaningless. There was no time for fear, no time for finding his breath -he heard the sharp sound of a thin bone cracking yet it was as if it belonged to someone else… "And you killed all the others like this?" he panted, very carefully shifting his weight to his toes, waiting for the moment when he would jump, end it all, end Kodos and the flurry of memories slowly driving him crazy.

"More or less, yes." Another shot pierced Kirk's wounded shoulder, but no sound came out of his mouth, nothing but an empty, derisive laugh that morphed into a gurgle when he spit blood on the ground. What a fitting sight, he mused. "And your whole 'painless death' policy, where did it go?"

"I changed my mind."

Jim runs and runs, clutching to his chest the Hypos and synthetized food he has managed to steal at the cost of a burning wound on his back, a black and pulsing eye, and the life of his faithful dog; he runs and runs through the woods even though his lungs feel like bursting and his legs are numb and pierced by needles and all he really wants is crawl into the mess of twigs and dirt and turn into a puddle of nothing. He runs because he can hear the guards scream and they are close to the refuge, and his debilitating hunger is forgotten at the thought of what they could do to his kids. In a rush, he slips behind the thick curtain of dead ivy and nearly flies into the cave, only to find it empty, eerily quiet. He looks around frantically, and jumps when a soft voice made weak by illness and incoming death calls his name. "Jim?"

Serena's still there. He kneels beside her, and his wrist is immediately encircled by shaking bones barely held together by the thinnest layer of skin and tendons. Her eyes -too wide, too bright, too alive for a face that seems risen from the grave, they are the one thing left unchanged by her malady- are haunted as he looks at him: "I told them… to run… The guards… are following… Go, Jim, go!"

The boy bares his teeth in helpless fury, the pain of his wounds loses meaning if compared to what could be… Gently, he reaches out to the girl's long, now-white neck (for the illness has leached away the beautiful golden colour of her once smooth skin) and sprays the Hypo firmly; she winces but she smiles: even if she is beyond saving, it doesn't mean he can't relieve her from her suffering. "I'm not leaving you behind," Jim murmurs, scooping her up in his arms so he can slide her on his back; once his shoulders and waist are gripped by skinny arms and legs and he is certain she will not fall, he starts running again, out of the safety of the cave and into the ghost of the luxurious woods he had loved so much before the famine.

"I'll never leave you behind, Serena."

He hears her sigh and tremble, but she does not cry, squeezing him faintly with what little strength she has left, and she kisses his cheek with her chapped, cold lips and doesn't reply.

Kirk was out of breath, from the pain and the hatred and the half-imagined hunger that was making his stomach churn, and as he pressed his palms flat into the dirt he stared at Kodos, at the pale scar crossing his jaw from where he'd wounded him thirteen years before, at his eyes of ice, the eyes of a madman, the eyes of a killing machine. I'm bringing you to hell with me.

This was not a no-win scenario. He knew that, however he recognised perfectly well he would die (there was, like, ninety-nine point periodic nine possibility over a hundred) but he would eradicate Kodos from the face of the Galaxy, plus the famine was abated and the planet was safe and it wouldn't take too long for his hostage people to break free: Spock was smart, the smartest in fact, he would find a way, and so would the others. Jim was sure. He wondered what the Vulcan would do, once he found him dead -no doubt he'd already figured everything out; would he be angry at him, curse his name and damn the day they had met, like Bones would? Or would he mourn in silence as he had done for his mother and planet, quietly going about his business as if life was unchanged but for the sadness present in his every gesture, in his every word? Or would he perhaps break into a fit of rage like he had with Khan and wreak havoc among Kodos's minions, tearing them apart one by one until nothing remained but death and vengeance?

Be it as it may, Kirk would die, and it was the reasonable price to pay for his revenge and for the safety of planet Q, wasn't it? No-win scenarios did not exist, he knew, it was simply a matter of how much you're willing to sacrifice, of price and prize, and he, as his father before him, had chosen.

Again, he thought of Spock, tried to picture the look his too-human eyes would get, afterwards; they were always so clean, so transparent, betraying him, revealing his feelings to the careful observer, and he knew it would show, he knew it would shame him greatly and profoundly to present himself as vulnerable, knew that for the sake of his memory, for the sake of star-crossed love he would refuse not to feel… And love would be his undoing.

The guards are everywhere, surrounding them, eight men and women looking down at hungry, desperate children and seeing nothing but dangerous individuals, for there is not a soul on Tarsus who does not know of Jim Kirk and his antics, Jim Kirk and his pack of sneaky children, Jim Kirk and all he does and gives and takes to keep them alive and protected, Jim Kirk who at the age of twelve has learned to steal because no law can tell you you must die, has learned to kill because no life is worth saving by sacrificing twenty others, has learned to let strangers touch him and possess him because survival demands it and food is worth this offering of self and he does it willingly but hates them, hates them, hates them…!

He dodges the deadly rays of the guard's phasers with expertise, and it seems as though Serena's getting heavier by the minute, but he won't let her go, he won't let her go, he can't, he can't… Another kiss falls behind his ear, and he feels her grip begin to loosen so he holds on harder –"Serena!"

"I love you, Jim," she whispers gently, "Thank you for existing… Don't let them take you or the others."

Panic strikes him for the first time since the day he heard Kodos's orders, and as he hides behind a tree he fights her efforts to free herself. "No, Serena, no, don't!"

He is weakened by the blood spreading slowly all over his back, and finally she manages to snap his fingers open and rolls down into the ground, then she's giving him this soft, tender look with her big brown eyes and she's running away as fast as she can, among the guards, and Jim lounges for her but he's too late, and his nails barely scratch her elbow and she's gone…

"Serena!"

It doesn't take them that long to kill her; one shot and she is laying, graceful even in death, into the ground, and Kirk's first impulse is to let himself fall down too and die as well, but he can't, because she wished for him to live… She was his first love and then and there he vows she'll be the last, for the hurt and despair that are wrenching his soul apart are too much for him to bear again. Never again, never again…

He should have listened to her when she told him not to love her, that rainy day resting into the mud as the rain fell above them, the day of their first kiss -too fast, too soon, but wasn't life slipping away quick as lightning? Affection and sorrow and loneliness merged into that kiss and for a moment it was perfect, but who were they kidding? She was one step from death's door, and he was no doctor to save her…

Now Jim doesn't cry, doesn't even scream his lungs out until there is no more voice to speak of his grief; he simply bares his teeth and pushes a woman away to sneak down a gentle slide only for a kid to thread on. The children, he has to find the children! He leaves Serena's body behind, and it's the hardest thing to do, but he can't help it.

Kirk snarled, collecting his strength, and finally, finally, he jumped, taking Kodos by surprise with his unexpected display of swift agility: the Governor's gun flew down the precipice when the Captain knocked it out of his hand, and they fell into a heap just by the slim border between life and death… Jim kicked and punched with expertise, moving too fast for his opponent to even think about reacting; his men were crowding closer to the fight, but Kirk knew they wouldn't dare shoot him for fear of hitting their master, and he took full advantage of that weakness by carefully keeping himself at least half-hidden behind Karidian's body at all times.

He just had to push him over the edge…

Blood was spilling from his mouth and his broken ribs creaked with his every move, yet the Captain lived into a suspended state of non-feeling, quiet but for the fires of his pitch-black hatred, and pain was the furthest thing from his mind. He growled and hissed with the effort of dragging the resisting weight of a man taller than he, and the dirt was suddenly wet, blessedly wet, tinted a rich red, turning slippery…

Winding his arms around Kodos's torso and not allowing himself to think of what was to come, he took a steadying breath and launched himself into the void. The fall was immediately halted by the Governor's futile resistance, for he was holding on and so was Jim, but Jim would let go, he would let go and kick away from the solid rock that was the only thing keeping them alive and he would plunge them into eternal darkness.

"Is this all of them?" a voice asks, and Jim's blood crawls. Kneeling into the dried humus, he makes his way towards the clearing where he can barely make out, if he squints his eyes, tiny corpses scattered around and a flock of guards surrounding one tall man he would recognise everywhere… Kodos. It's Kodos and he's killed the children.

He breaks into a run.

"Kirk's missing," a woman says, nudging a body with her boot to turn it so the face's exposed. "The others are dead."

Jim is too late, too late, too late, too late, and why is he still alive, why does he survive, why, why, he is unworthy, unworthy because he's failed, failed so utterly and completely he feels crushed, the weight of his guilt like a mountain bearing upon his tiny bony shoulders… And when he's close enough, he searches the ground and finds a sharp rock and it is but a sliver of what he has inside - it will suffice, it will suffice… He raises his arm and throws the projectile at Kodos's face, his aim perfect even though his eyes are covered by a thin film of tears, and it splits his jaw open as the Governor jumps in pain and surprise and Jim laughs out loud, and his laughter sounds carefree and beautiful regardless of what he's been through, regardless of the dark cloud of murderous wishes settling inside his chest…

He runs amid the guards and screams and pushes, and he doesn't know if it's the adrenalin or his skill or maybe sheer luck but none of their shots hit him, he feels invincible and indestructible and as far away from life and reality as can be. "I won't go down without a fight! Fight me, fight me, fight me scum you murderers I hate you kill you fight me you disgust me I'll see your blood on the earth how dare you take my friends fight me fight me fight me cowards using phasers against kids fight me fight me…" It has become a chant and he swears he can see his sanity slipping away and he wants to die but they can't kill him, he can't let them…

Then a call breaks the charm, a call saying Starfleet's here, Starfleet's brought supplies, too late, too late, they are too late but Kodos's men are frightened and they flee and in the blink of an eye they are gone, gone.

Their last, desperate shot at him hits him partway and he finally falls into the ground and the last thing he's aware of is the smell of dirt mixed with sweat and blood.

"Give up and die, Kodos," Kirk grunted as he held on tighter to his neck, trying to suffocate him somehow. He could see the tendons stand out in the Governor's hand, trembling with the effort of keeping him attached to the ground, and he knew it would be a matter of seconds before he would let go… "Your time has passed. You should have died thirteen years ago."

Spock stopped dead in his tracks as he beheld the sight laid out before him, and icy dread settled in his veins, making his eyes go wide and his mind screech to a halt and his heart beat faster in preparation for a fight that would never happen… Because this time, he was powerless. T'hy'la…

Jim dangled from a precipice, stubbornly wrapped around a man that could be no other than Kodos, and the Vulcan found himself wishing for once that his Captain would lose his battle and let the Executioner return them both back up to safety… He rushed towards them, moving at full speed, drawing a wide circle around Karidian's armed people who would certainly shoot him on sight, and he wondered if he could make it in time to catch Kirk when he fell…

He could not.

But to live in a world where t'hy'la did not exist… It was far, far too soon for that: he knew the time would come when he would have to withstand such tremendous grief -he had seen it already etched on the deep lines of his counterpart's elder face, he had seen it in the gentle, sorrowful look in his eyes, heard it in the ever-so-slightly broken quality of his voice… He had failed to recognise it before because he had been ignorant of the truth, but now he was painfully aware and did not wish to taste that bitter sadness, did not wish to mourn the loss of his one and only soulmate after having spent so brief a time with him, merely a blink if compared with a human life span…

Jim… Jim! "Jim!" At the risk of attracting everyone's attention and probably signing his death warrant, Spock called out for the human who seemed so intent on sacrificing himself for… for vengeance of all things. But Jim was his, his, and he would not let him, he would never let him, he had to stop him… "Jim! Captain!" It came out as a plea more than anything, yet for once he was not nearly as ashamed as he should have been… "Jim!"

Kirk's eyes zeroed in on him and for a moment of stillness where even time appeared to be suspended, they looked at each other. Jim felt his breath catch in his throat as he gazed into the Vulcan's wide, crystal clear eyes, recognising in them the ghost of what once was and the image of what might become, and he wondered how it could be that Spock was the exception to his every rule, for he had vowed 'never again' yet here he was, allowing himself to hope for a new beginning even on the verge of death…

And suddenly his haze of blind hatred broke and vanished, and he finally saw, saw the Vulcan's fierce expression that demanded he lived and knew he owed him as much, knew he had to survive, for his sake and for the sake of his crew, because they cared, and he couldn't go down without a fight, couldn't just give up… He groaned and snapped his fingers around Kodos's wrists, prying them open and kicking his face as he began to fall, then used the momentum to drag himself over the edge and once again into the dirt. With a loud scream, the Governor was lost into the void, but Kirk barely heard his cries, looking at Spock's ashen face as he ran towards him. Funny, how the tables have turned, he thought.

For now he was the one to whisper "Go, get safe," and smile a painful, sad smile before darkness enveloped him and he was gone.

"Jim!" Spock threw himself at the Captain in time to snatch him away from the humans who had surrounded him and wetted his fingers with his rich, scalding blood. "Jim!"

AN: Okay, this is officially over! I apologise for the cliff-hanger but I really liked it and couldn't think of another way for this to end. I put aside the music-lyre part of the arc (but not entirely) for now, but don't worry, I'll get around to that next chapter! Also, for Jim's flashbacks I used a different technique than I usually do, because I really wanted to give the impression that they were merging and existing into his reality, mixing 'then' and 'now'.

I hope you liked this chapter as well and wish to offer my warmest thanks to all of you who have read, followed, left a favourite or a review! You're awesome and I love you!