Hey ya'll. So sorry, I was having issues working this next part out in my head, and there was break long enough to go home and I wanted to spend it with my family all instead of writing and such, so. :) Anyway, i hope ya'll like the chapter. Can't wait to hear from ya'll. Please do let me know what you think if you're still around, lol. Thanks so much for the support!

Chapter 10

2274

The Enterprise's second five-year mission under James T. Kirk launched from Vulcan rather than from Earth, so as to be present for the marriage of the ship's captain and first officer which took place several days before. After that, of course, the ship was left in orbit for several days, waiting for its executive officers to return. Sulu and Scotty were more than equipped to oversee the last of the preparations for launch, Jim and Spock were sure.

It was a bit surreal, Spock considered, this wedding. Of course, he did not really consider it until days later, looking back upon it, once the influence of the Pon Farr had released him.

He remembered the doctor smiling at them, happy for them and showing it. Spock remembered when he had firmly believed that it would be Leonard to whom he would bond when this time came. He was surprised when that thought no longer brought so much pain.

Perhaps he should not have been surprised. He was more than content now, with Jim. He loved Jim. If he were human he would have said that he was happy. When they returned to the Enterprise and McCoy was waiting for them with that same mischievous grin on his face, Spock studied the doctor and felt only warmth. He was not certain when it had happened that the memories had ceased to be so sharp, and become something that he could look on in easier fondness.

It had happened. At some point, over time. And he was pleased that it had. In that moment of return, of realization that he was content, his mother's lesson made more sense. Spock thought of the box in his quarters and its contents, and the drawer and what it contained, and he understood it all better than he ever had.

It occurred to him that in many ways he had Leonard McCoy to thank for all of that. He had McCoy to thank for many things, not the least of which was Jim.

2285

"Spock…for god's sakes talk to me."

There had been a lot that happened in recent months that didn't seem real: Spock's death. Having back the memories the Vulcan had protected him from all of those years…and the fact that Jim now knew it all, too. Feeling like he was losing his mind…but that it was only because Spock's mind was locked away within it. The Vulcan's essence. His soul. Trapped in Leonard body.

"You stuck this damn thing in my head, remember? Remember? Now tell me what to do with it," McCoy pleaded.

Now this. Now a very much alive Spock lay on the diagnostic bed beside him—a mindless, empty husk, but alive. McCoy wanted nothing more than to talk to him; for those dark eyes to open and look at him in recognition. In understanding. He wanted Spock back, damnit. Really back. But all that was really Spock was still inside him.

They were en route to Vulcan. Hopefully there—where they had at first thought only to return Spock's katra and body for proper internment—it would be possible to re-fuse the mind with the now-living body. The hope was that it was enough to return Spock to them whole.

Because the thing Leonard held—the essence within him—wasn't really Spock either, even though it was. It was everything the Vulcan had been, but without its own body it had no consciousness of its own. There was no communication. Leonard felt that he if concentrated hard enough he could know everything Spock had ever known; he knew he could. Sometimes he slipped into the Vulcan's attitudes and mannerisms without realizing anything had happened.

But Spock wasn't there, precisely. He was, but he wasn't. McCoy couldn't talk to him. He couldn't ask what the hell he was supposed to do now. According to Sarek he was just supposed to know, and he did—he knew they had to make it to Vulcan—but that was all.

"Help me…"

There was no answer. He hadn't expected one.

Leonard wasn't sure when he'd risen up practically on his toes, clutching the edge of the bed and leaning over its side as if that would make any difference. Now he sank back onto the cold metal stool he'd dragged there beside it.

Cold. Metal. There wasn't any other kind of anything here, on this stolen Klingon ship. Even the biobed was little more than a slab.

"This has to work, you know," he managed after a moment. His voice came out tired and weary and thin. "I've lost you twice. I don't…I don't think I could stand to lose you again."

McCoy let his head drop into his hands, his elbows resting on the side of the bed. He wanted to sleep but he couldn't.

"Maybe you can still hear me," he mussed. He looked at the still features before him, but he supposed he was talking to whatever exactly it was locked away inside him. "Or you'll remember when they put you back together."

He was already shaking his head long before he'd decided to keep talking. If he even really decided that.

"Damnit, Spock…what the hell is your problem? When we decided erasing it was the only thing we could do at the time I didn't think that'd fix it forever. Not when you couldn't change your own memories too. I knew it'd come out. I never thought you'd let it go this long.

"But that's you, isn't it? Trying to deal with everything yourself…you've always done it. Even when you finally figured out everything else, you never got over that one. You still have to protect everyone you can. It's not a bad thing to want to do that, Spock, but you could use some improvement on your judgment."

There was even more of it than he'd known before, he knew now. Maybe he couldn't communicate with what of Spock was trapped in his mind, but he knew things.

He knew things like what had really happened on Sarpeidon. He knew that as their position in time had begun to affect the Vulcan's behavior Spock had held on to enough of himself, long enough to make a choice. Because of their past the primitive urges had pushed him toward the doctor, but McCoy no longer remembered what had happened between them by then. If Spock had given in to those urges it would have been disastrous for all of them—Spock, Leonard, and Jim if they ever returned. The memories might have returned. The new and still somewhat fragile intimate relationship between Jim and his first officer might have fractured.

But Spock had known he would lose himself. He could not stop it. Before he did he chose to push himself in another direction, to be certain he would not do what he absolutely could not do. He responded to Zarabeth's advances rather than advancing on McCoy, and when control was gone the passionate, primitive Vulcan he became continued in that vein. He succeeded.

McCoy hadn't understood then, all of the reasoning behind it. He took it as the primitive Vulcan mind overtaking Spock and left it at that. In any case, he told Jim nothing of Zarabeth. For his friends he kept that secret. It did not matter. Spock had not been himself.

So many things like that. It seemed Spock spent his life protecting those he cared about. He died doing it. That was what had brought them here, to this place. This moment.

"And me, I've spent fifteen years keeping you and Jim together…or helping you get there in the first place," Leonard sighed. "Not that I regret it. I don't. How could I? You're the closest friends I have; I was glad you were happy. I still am. That hasn't changed. I…it's just funny how things turn out sometimes."

Tentatively McCoy reached to take one of the still hands that lay at the Vulcan's side. He squeezed impulsively, wondering if Spock would ever really be with them again…hoping…wondering if the Vulcan would ever know anything he was saying now. When he spoke again, his voice dropped to a whisper for a moment.

"I would have married you, you know. If what happened hadn't…" He had to stop briefly. "When you asked me I only hesitated because of everything I went through with Jocelyn. You knew that. You didn't push the issue. It doesn't matter now, but I just…hope you know I would have done it."

He swallowed and sat back a bit, but he kept the hand he held. "But I guess I really do love you enough to just want you to be happy…guess I always did. Because I don't regret anything. None of it. Who'd have thought it of me? Guess I'm not as selfish as I always thought I was…nice to know, I suppose."

A shuffling near the door alerted him that he and Spock were no longer alone, and Leonard looked up to find Jim in the open doorway. The admiral almost shrank back, somewhat sheepish, and without thinking about it McCoy raised an eyebrow in a decidedly Vulcan manner.

When he realized what he was doing he abruptly stopped and blinked, and shook his head at himself. "How long you been there?" he asked.

Jim came to the other side of the bed and pulled another stool with him. "Long enough," he admitted.

Leonard swallowed, and when Jim took Spock's other hand McCoy deliberately released the one he held himself. "If this works, I'm not going to get in the way. I wouldn't do that."

"I know you well enough to know that, Bones. The thought never crossed my mind." Jim studied him closely for a moment. "But are you all right?"

McCoy shrugged. "As all right as I'm going to be…except I'll probably be better without two brains in my head once we get there."

All was quiet for a while after that, until Jim spoke up again. "I always knew I had you to thank…for pestering some of his stubbornness out of him who knows how many times, if nothing else. Mine too, for that matter. You've always been there. But I never knew how much it really meant until now." Jim looked at him. "Even before you forgot, you were helping us. I can never thank you enough for that."

Leonard only shrugged again, because he didn't know how to respond to that. But he smiled a little, inwardly, because at least he knew—after all the time he'd spent second-guessing himself over all of this, then and now—that he'd done something right.

Five-and-a-Half Years Ago

In 2279 the second five-year mission of the Enterprise had concluded. The ship was relegated to the use of Command as a training vessel. The crew moved on to other assignments, but the senior staff continued to stay in touch as much as possible. Spock took a teaching position at the academy, and Jim settled in San Francisco once more—this time with his bondmate.

He had to admit he didn't mind going back to the desk job so much now that Spock was with him. Even Bones stayed in the city this time, at Starfleet Medical, and occasionally the doctor was also seen as a guest lecturer at Starfleet Academy's medical school. The three of them spent a good deal of time together, and Jim wouldn't have had it any other way.

This was what their lives could have been the years after the first mission, but to remember that was pointless. They had it now, and that was what mattered.

Sill, Jim wasn't happy with the desk job for very long. After a year or two of that again he decided he would rather retire than stay in Starfleet doing something he didn't want to be doing. Spock had no objections; both of them having such involved duties often kept them apart even living in the small apartment they shared. They hadn't had much more, either, the first five years. Running a ship had not been any less demanding of them the second time around than the first.

Jim retired, then, in 2281, and it gave them more time. It gave them the married life he supposed everyone wished for at one time or another. It was slower, and he didn't mind. He could tell Spock appreciated it, too.

It made Spock's third Pon Farr—their second together—less of a hurried affair than it had been the first time, after their marriage. There was no ship waiting for them. Spock took the term off from the academy. They retreated to Vulcan, to Spock's private quarters of his family estate as they had before, and they stayed much longer than the Fever really lasted.

All was well, until they were ready to leave. Spock had a private conversation with his father before they departed for Earth, and Jim knew immediately that it had affected him.

When they were home Spock told him what it had concerned, and Jim was a little startled, perhaps, but not surprised. Months later the new year had long since begun, but Sarek had not yet let the subject rest.

An evening in early March of 2282 Spock returned from his classes for the day. Jim was at the table in the kitchen with coffee and a book—something he'd never had much time for in Starfleet—but when Spock sat beside him he had no more interest in reading. He could see through the Vulcan façade even better now than he could years ago, and even without the uneasiness he felt through their bond he knew something was troubling his bondmate.

"Bad day of classes, or did Sarek send you another message?" Spock only raised that eyebrow at him, and he sighed. "That's what I thought."

The Vulcan released a small breath. "I am sorry, Jim. My father approves of you personally, and so he did not attempt to prevent our bonding, but I knew well that he would not allow the subject of children to rest indefinitely. I fear I did not sufficiently warn you of this."

"I think I'd figured that part out on my own by the time we got married, Spock; it's all right." Jim set his coffee cup down and crossed his arms. "You know, you don't have to keep fielding those interrogation sessions on your own." He tried smiling then, too, hoping to bring Spock's spirits up, and a corner of the Vulcan's mouth did quirk up briefly.

"I did not wish to subject you to my father's…directness."

"Sure. But Sarek has a point. There's never going to be a better time. I'm retired; you're at the academy. We both have the time. And you may be a Vulcan, but I'm not, and I'm not getting any younger. I'll be fifty next year. If we're going to do it at all, we should do it now."

"It is not something we had planned."

Jim shrugged. "Plans change. Maybe being a parent wasn't one of my life's goals to begin with, but then I never thought I'd be bonded to a Vulcan, either," he said gently.

And in truth, a parent he already was. Spock and Bones were the only people alive beyond Carol Marcus herself who knew it, too. Still, either way it wasn't the same as what they were discussing now. David didn't know he existed. Carol hadn't wanted him involved, and he'd never been involved.

What they were talking about here was a child that would be theirs. Spock's and his. There should be a way to do it, even if the way wasn't entirely clear yet. Sarek had been questioning them about their plans since before they left Vulcan, reminding them that at the very least it was Spock's duty to provide an heir; a continuation of his Vulcan family line. It was not required that Jim be a part of it at all, but Spock had many years ago made it clear that he refused to reproduce in any way that did not bring forth a child that was his and his bondmate's.

Jim was touched by that, but as long as Spock's logic had at times irritated him there were times now he wished his husband would be more logical. There were other, easier ways to satisfy Sarek's request. Adopting a child would not do because it would not be of Spock's lineage, but producing a child with a Vulcan female of his clan would, among other things. It wouldn't require anything but an exchange of biological samples.

Though Amanda had been able to carry him to term, Spock himself had been conceived that way. There wasn't any other way for it to happen, with his parents of different species. It took effort to bring him into existence at all. When Jim and Spock were both in Starfleet with no time for children, Sarek and Amanda had even offered many times to care for any child of their son's, no matter how the child came to be.

Jim understood how important the family was to Vulcans. He knew it would seem a disaster to Sarek if his son's line did not continue. He knew that no matter how much Spock told him it did not matter, Spock would feel the same. For years Jim had told his bondmate to do whatever he needed to do.

Still, Spock had done nothing. He remained adamant that he would only wish to have a biological child if it could be theirs, and then only if he and Jim could raise the child themselves.

So it was an old stalemate that remained buried until now, with Jim retired and Spock teaching and raising a child suddenly possible.

Spock looked at him for a long time now. "I don't want anything to be done of that magnitude only out of a sense of responsibility. It would seem such if we were to do so now, only in response to my father's wishes."

"It wouldn't have to be that way. Like I said, Spock, maybe I didn't really plan from the beginning to do anything more than spend the rest of my life with you…but if there's anyone I'd want to raise a child with it would be you. Maybe that sounds a little contrived, but that doesn't make it any less true." Jim smiled again and took his bondmate's hand on the table. "We love each other. Throw that in with the fact that we're pretty damn good at running a starship together, and I think we could pull off parenting."

Spock squeezed his hand, but the conversation stopped there for the time being. It didn't pick up again until the next night, in bed before sleep came.

"It will not be easy," Spock said into the dimness. "I will need to go to Vulcan, to the Science Academy where I was conceived and the techniques to do so were developed. Combining the DNA of two males is possible, as is combining basic human and Vulcan DNA, but both are problematic. Addressing both issues at once has never been attempted. It does not help, either, that I am already a hybrid. All of this will make it more difficult."

"You should ask Bones if he'd help. He probably knows more about our genes, than anyone. I think he's getting a little bored at Starfleet Medical anyway. He'd probably appreciate something different to do for a while."

"I have considered that. I will speak with him tomorrow." Spock paused. "If you are certain that this is what we should do."

Jim just smiled. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as I can arrange for the leave to do so. However, you do not need to accompany me as long I have the needed samples from you. It may take a good amount of time, and there would be little for you to do. You are extremely intelligent in your own right, Jim, but you are not skilled in the biological or medical sciences."

"So you're saying I'd just get in the way?" Jim chuckled good-naturedly.

"I did not say that."

"Are you sure? I don't mind. Wouldn't want you to get lonely."

"I would be staying at home with my parents, and if the doctor agrees to assist he will also be there. I will not lack company."

"No, but you'd miss me."

More than seven years of marriage, and Jim still didn't know if Spock really used the dimness of their bedroom at night to roll his eyes or perhaps smile a little more than usual. He was relatively certain his bondmate wanted to, at the least, but he could never be quite sure. If Spock were doing anything now, though, it would be rolling his eyes.

"Yes, Jim. I will miss you," the Vulcan sighed, almost in amusement. "However, I know that Vulcan has never held great interest for you."

The only thing of interest to Jim regarding Vulcan was Spock, and if Spock was going to be busy there much of the time, he was right. There was no reason for Jim to go. He wanted to, to be there for support, but he wouldn't be really needed. And he really might get in the way, if he became too bored. He did like quiet and reading at times, but weeks and weeks of it would wear on him. There wouldn't be anywhere to escape to. Vulcan was too hot for humans to simply roam about when they wanted. Here on Earth, at least, there were places he could go if he were restless.

Jim sighed too, finally. "All right…you're right. I'd go out of my mind sitting around in that estate without you. I'll stay on Earth. Maybe I'll go out to my uncle's place…haven't been there in a while. The horses probably miss me."

Jim's mother still lived at home in Iowa. His uncle's place in Idaho that had been left to him was where he and Spock went to be alone. It was only the horses and the two or three hands that kept the place up and cared for the animals there. When they went, they gave those men the time off.

"But call me if you need me, understand?" Jim stressed. "I'm here. Call me. I'll be there as soon as I can if you ask me to be."

Spock nodded, and Jim settled back down against him. Something in his stomach fluttered. "My god, we might really be parents a year from now."

Maybe it wasn't something he'd really considered often, but he was coming to the age where he regretted never being involved in David's life. Suddenly the idea of raising a child that was his and Spock's was more attractive than it had ever been.

It occurred to him that maybe this was what they needed. They both appreciated the quieter times the last year or two had brought them, but a child would bring more meaning to it all. Retirement, though nice, was beginning to seem pointless. Jim needed a purpose again, and he couldn't think of a better one.

This time, when he said what he said, he knew Spock was smiling just a bit because the Vulcan held him close and Jim felt it against his hair.

When Jim and Spock came to ask him if he would help Spock with their endeavor, McCoy agreed wholeheartedly. He was feeling a little bored and underused at Starfleet Medical.

He wasn't running the place or anything; not that he wasn't qualified, he just didn't want to. They'd offered him that job, and he'd turned it down. It wasn't to his taste, really. Too much like the Starfleet Operations position Jim had hated. More paper-pushing than anything. So he did the rounds. He doctored and that was what he wanted to do, but he also wanted more of a challenge. What he really wanted, if he was honest with himself, was to be in space again.

He just couldn't say that. Leonard told too many people he was nothing but an old country doctor to admit the country doctor would rather be on a starship.

Going to Vulcan with Spock was much better than nothing, and the fact that he would be helping his closest friend with something that was important to them only made it more worth doing. So he went.

He was also more than a little looking forward to seeing Jim and Spock deal with a baby.

"Are you kidding? Wouldn't miss that for the world," he grinned. Jim glared at him. Spock merely raised an eyebrow.

He knew it would be a challenge, even working with members of the team at the Vulcan Science Academy that had achieved Spock's conception. He knew it would take time.

He didn't expect their efforts to come to nothing at all.

Spock didn't ask him to do it, but Leonard was with him when he informed Sarek of their failure. Four months, and nothing. It had taken longer originally, McCoy was told, to create the embryo that had grown to be Spock. But the problems they had run into already had proven to be impossible to remedy.

Due to McCoy's stubborn insistence alone they had already worked weeks longer than the Vulcans had thought logical. Spock, though he would never admit it aloud, seemed glad that the doctor had insisted they continue to try as long as they had. But it was impossible.

"There is nothing that can be done?" Sarek asked.

"There are too many inconsistencies," McCoy continued to explain. Spock had fallen silent minutes ago. "The greater disparity between the DNA—Spock already being a hybrid—is part of it, but there's more to it. Just too many complications. The results we're getting are too muddled to tell where the problems are coming from, no matter how many times we run the tests. Some of them we have managed to pinpoint, but a lot of them we haven't and probably never would. It doesn't really matter what side it's on anyway. Jim and Spock both have spent so much time in space anything that's happened to them could be preventing us from successfully combining their patterns."

"I see…"

"I will not consider any other option," Spock said suddenly.

Both of them looked at him.

"I know this, my son," Sarek said.

"I understand that to bring about an heir it is acceptable for a Vulcan to seek a solution outside of a pair-bonding if it is impossible within it. I agree that it is, perhaps, quite logical. I also agree with the fact that it is the only instance in which such a thing is in any way acceptable. However…while I agree that it is logical, I do not…believe it right. I will not."

"Did you believe that I would force your hand?"

That seemed to bring Spock up short, and McCoy felt as if he were watching a tennis match and holding his breath all at once.

"You have stressed the need for a continuation of our house much in recent months," the younger of the two Vulcans answered slowly. "It seemed reasonable to believe that you would see it accomplished."

"I wished to see it accomplished if it could be accomplished in the only way which you would accept. In truth, it was the only method which I would have freely accepted as well. My insistence was only to bring about the end of your hesitation. As I have said, my son, I understand what it is you say. You seem to forget that I also married a human."

Was he imagining things, Leonard wondered, or did the corner of Sarek's mouth quirk up just the tiniest amount?

"As such, my…values, have also adapted themselves," the ambassador concluded.

Translation: Humans rubbed off on you. Vulcans were fiercely loyal unless logic dictated otherwise. Humans, on the other hand…loyalty didn't have to be logical, and it seemed Sarek was saying he had long since realized that in the case of marriage, that could be a good thing. Emotion had its uses.

Not that either Vulcan would actually put any of it in those words.

Spock blinked. Maybe he swallowed, but in the room that was somewhat dimmed with the evening, McCoy wasn't sure.

"I thank you for your understanding, Father."

Sarek nodded in answer, and there was silence for a minute or two before Spock took his leave and Leonard followed him from the ambassador's study.

McCoy imagined that was probably the most emotional moment father and son had ever shared, unless the day Spock had left for Starfleet had been more charged. At least this time it was mutual understanding and not mutual anger. That was definitely an improvement over where they'd been twenty or thirty years ago.

Leonard was glad he'd been there to see it.

Spock found himself on a balcony off the main rooms of the house. He knew McCoy had followed him, but wasn't certain how long he stared out at the desert before the doctor said something.

"I'm so sorry, Spock."

"You did everything within your power, Doctor. Indeed, you were much more determined to solve the problem than any others who assisted us."

"I'm just human, is all. Doesn't really mean anything special."

"It does," Spock answered. "You are my friend. You acted in the way you did because you care for me, and for Jim. I am grateful for that."

The doctor looked sheepish then. "Well, I mean…yeah. You're welcome."

It was McCoy who spoke again, after the silence had lingered once more. "I just wish we could have made it work. I…think this meant a lot to you, didn't it?"

The heaviness within him gave him his answer. Even after so many years he still could not lie to the doctor, and he was too fatigued to be evasive in his usual Vulcan manner.

"Perhaps even more than I understood," Spock agreed quietly.

He had always known he would have a duty. He had always known the importance of family to the Vulcan culture, and felt it himself. Agreed with that importance to his core. But there was more to his disappointment now. It was not mere disappointment. It was pain.

He had wanted this. The sorrow he felt was almost as if there had been a child that was now dead—not merely that there had never been one. It was all entirely disproportionate, and illogical.

"Let's go home, Spock," Leonard urged him gently. "You should be with Jim right now."

Spock very nearly winced, because with that statement came the realization there was already feedback along his bond with his husband. Jim knew that something was wrong. He felt it.

"I must tell him what has been determined, but I cannot leave Vulcan as of yet," he said. "There are things which must be seen to now that it is clear that Jim and I will never have a child."

"What are you talking about?"

"Arrangements. For after my mother and father's deaths, and mine and Jim's. If no one will follow other arrangements must be made. There are procedures."

"Spock, you and Sarek have plenty of time to work that out—to do whatever has to be done officially. You have years to do that. Decades, for god's sakes. You should be at home now."

"It is not logical to put off what can be done now."

He heard himself retreating to logic, and much of him did not agree on this particular point but he could not stop it.

Perhaps it was an excuse, as humans called it. Because much of him also did not wish to return to Jim in the state in which he now found himself. Perhaps the strength of the sorrow he felt was not logical, but it was there. He would be nothing but a burden now, and he did not wish to be that.

"That's ridiculous. Go home," McCoy said again.

"I shall, as soon as I have seen to what must be done. If you wish to return to Earth ahead of me you are more than welcome to do so."

"Spock—"

"Thank you, Doctor. Good night."

"Why you thick-headed, pointed-eared—!"

McCoy cut off, spun, and stalked away, but Spock had no doubt that he would be back before he left if he chose to leave.

Jim felt it before he heard anything. He was in the process of a dismount when it hit him, and he ended up on his ass at the horse's feet.

The anxiety had built steadily in recent weeks, fueled by the undercurrents of emotion he felt from his bondmate even light-years away. Now he knew the answer whether he wanted to know it or not.

The message came hours later—not a communication, not a call, just a recorded message. Spock looked awful on the recording. Oh he was as perfectly groomed as always, but Jim knew the difference between fine and not-fine when he was looking at his bondmate. And Spock was not fine.

Spock told him what had happened. That the problems with the combination had finally been determined as insurmountable. Sarek understood, he said, and Jim was glad of that but he wished there was more to the message. After the facts all Spock told him was that he would be a few weeks longer on Vulcan; something about arrangements to be made, and not to be concerned.

Jim was concerned anyway. Nothing but a message, and it was all far too similar to what had happened after the first five-year mission for comfort. It worried him. It was a pit in his stomach that ached, and the news itself didn't help.

He'd been happy. Excited. As the weeks and months went by and he thought the time was bringing them closer to being parents he'd wanted it more than ever. In the early weeks Spock would really call, rather than send messages. There had been a light in the Vulcan's eyes even though he said that they should not discuss it too much. They should not plan too much, because they did not know what the outcome would be. Jim played along. The pictures in his mind he saved for the day they had the good news.

Now there was nothing. It would never happen, and he was more crushed than he'd thought he would be, and he wanted Spock home. Bones wasn't even here. No one was planetside just now. Not Scotty, or Uhura, or Sulu or Chekov or anyone.

He keyed a message into the computer anyway, before he really knew what he was doing. He didn't want to be alone, and there was one person, at least, that he knew he could call.

He'd met Antonia the first week here, months ago. He'd been out riding, jumping the small gorge at the back of his uncle's property when he saw her on her own horse. She was a veterinarian with her own practice nearby. She specialized in horses and had the same sort of thirst for adventure that had always driven Jim. For the most part, she understood him.

They'd become friends. She'd never wanted children and couldn't understand his anxiousness to hear from Spock, but she'd been an ear even so. She cared.

Without Spock or Bones here, Jim needed a friend now. That was all.