A/N: And now we've come to the end of the road. Thank you SO much to everyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, translated, and read this story. I'm glad you were with me on this ride. Thank you.
This is the epilogue, short, but it covered what I wanted covered, and I saw no need for unnecessary fluff. I hope you enjoy it, and that you made reread the story in its entirety again :) If there are any loop holes that stand out to you, please let me know. I try my best to cover all my bases, but on occasion something will slip by me. Also, I trust that you know McCoy's canon background, and that I do not need to explicitly state it. You'll see what I mean. ;) Once again, thank you all for your positive and generous support. Enjoy!
Mene- life
Each time was inexplicable. From that day around Psi 2000 to their mishap 10 days ago (was it really 10 days?) and even now. How could one possibly describe it? It was something both more and less than a sensation. There was the slight impression that, for a brief moment, you were on the edge of infinity; and as you reached a hand up to press against the fragile film separating you from the expanse of time and space (look at all the stars!) something pulled you back, shaking its head 'not now'.
Such was all that lingered when Spock opened his eyes. The laboratory stood before him in frank normalcy. To his left, the small reactor hummed, chugging on with its experiment. The clock above it read mere seconds after Spock had started the test.
The body to his right moved. McCoy slowly straightened, looked around, and took a cautious step away from him. Spock watched as the doctor's shoulders tensed and relaxed repeatedly as he processed their new reality.
When he was a few steps further into the room he turned around, cautiously controlled hope flickering in his blue eyes. "Are we-?" the words got stuck in his throat.
Spock could have said a dozen things. Theories and estimations whirled in his head. How the plan worked. How, likely, the tachyonic energy from this moment was drawn to their residue and pulled them precisely back to when the cold-start was initiated. How they just missed watching themselves disappear. How the missile would travel time through all eternity, burning out on its ghost path through millennia. How so many things could have gone wrong. How nothing short of divine intervention could have nudged the odds in their favor.
He said none of it. Instead, he reached over and turned the reactor off.
McCoy's eyes followed his movements.
He carefully and deliberately folded his hands behind his back and took a weary breath. "I must turn myself in to the proper authorities."
"Why?" McCoy prodded, eyeing him. "For the murder of a man 2,000 years ago?"
Spock tightened his grip. "It is shameful."
"You know you weren't all with it," McCoy approached, his timbre approaching that acidic insight he was so good at manifesting. "The era was ripping apart your shields, and even then, I know you still have to be provoked to act violently."
"None of this changes my guilt," Spock replied sharply. "It certainly was no accident."
McCoy halted, eyes narrowing, then folded his arms. "You're right."
Spock blinked. An agreement? This was very unusual coming from the doctor.
"You killed a man, Spock," McCoy continued. "Nobody else did it. It was by your hand. He lived and died 2,000 years ago, but you're here now. You're still guilty, there's still blood on your hands, but no one will prosecute you for a crime that old. So now your only choice is to move on." McCoy stepped closer. "And you know something else? It hurts."
Spock studied him carefully, trying to deduce if McCoy was practicing reverse psychology on him. That hypothesis proved unnervingly untrue.
"It hurts," McCoy repeated, never breaking eye contact. "And you'll still feel a bit of that hurt every day for the rest of your life. But you move on anyway. You hear me?"
"Doctor," Spock cleared his throat. "I cannot expect you to understand what it means for a Vulcan to break-"
"Try me." McCoy's blue eyes glittered.
Spock paused. He hadn't heard of McCoy doing anything unspeakable while they were trapped in the past. The doctor followed his Hippocratic Oath religiously, but then again, so did Spock with his values…
Spock nodded slowly. There was... a sense of logic in what he was saying. Though still confused, and in dire need of meditation, his head felt clearer. It excused nothing, but perhaps he was in a slightly better position to look at what they survived through more rationally, if not completely logically. Yes, indeed. They were out of the Pre-Awakened era and he lived in the age of the modern Vulcan. One must endure despite the... pains... of the past. He took a deep breath and found no judgement in McCoy's eyes. Weariness and age, but no judgment.
"We should get back to the ship," McCoy murmured. "We're both scratched up mighty good… and could probably use some shore leave to boot." He sighed and rubbed his arms. "And at least it'd make sure that we didn't mess up any focal points in the past…"
Spock nodded again, not quite sure of what to say. Varteth, Surak, Tirann, Vilar… as if none of it had ever happened (except for that guilt; and McCoy was right, how it hurt). He walked over to the communicator lying on the shelf (right where he had left it, so many days, seconds, ago) and flipped it open as McCoy drifted near him. "Spock and Dr. McCoy to Enterprise, come in, Enterprise."
"Enterprise here, we read you loud and clear."
