Pike led the trio through the bowels of the starship, giving orders and reassurances out to anyone who needed them, unable to take the weariness out of his voice as he explained his situation patiently for the thousandth time. Jim envied his acceptance, and the quiet way he seemed determined to resist.

Jim had the feeling Nero wasn't going to be sitting his captain - former captain - down for a cup of synth-coffee and a nice chat, which made Pike's certainty that everything would be alright in the end that much harder to swallow. But he wasn't going to argue - he'd seen that stubborn look on Pike's face before; he'd faced it every day for the past three years, when he questioned himself if joining Starfleet was the right thing to do. If he tried, he could extend the same set jaw and hard eyes to his father, or the mental image he had of his blood father.

Swallowing tightly, Jim followed behind the other two members of the skydive team to the shuttle bay, where Pike quietly directed them to their protective suits. Jim was left, oddly enough, with the blue one. Stifling the childish urge to ask for the gold - when he actually graduated, he wasn't going into anything less than command and tactical - he slipped into it with some difficulty.

"Strap in," Pike warned. Biting back the words that sparked in his throat - I'm not ten, thank you very much - Jim pulled the belt across his torso, shifting the helmet from hand to hand as he snapped it in place. On both sides, Sulu and Olson did the same, the former in burnished gold and the latter in a dusky red that reminded Jim far, far too much of blood.

"You got the charges?" Jim murmured, flicking his eyes to the right.

"'Course I do," Olson replied, indignant, but then a smug smile crept onto his face and he lifted one shoulder nonchalantly. "I can't wait to kick some Romulan ass!"

With a low growl from below, Pike gently fired the impulse engines of his little craft and whisked it out of its parking spot. Pressing buttons with one hand, the other manipulating an image on the screen in front of him, he maneuvered the shuttle through the enormous doors waiting at the end of the bay. They loomed like mighty steel jaws, waiting to swing shut and crush them into dust like the insignificant bugs they were.

Shaking himself from his morbid metaphors, Jim ran over the plan in his head one more time. They were going to be dropped roughly half-way through Pike's trip. From there, they'd fall until they were a safe distance above the device, pulling their chutes and making a quick and secure landing. Once they were steady, they would detonate the charges Olson brought, disable the thing, get beamed the hell out of there, and continue on with the saving of Vulcan.

It was a perfect plan, except for the hundred or so variables that no one could predict. Jim sat back, eyes closed, but a thought occurred to him and he turned slightly to Sulu.

"So, what kind of combat training do you have?" He'd been taught that knowing one's allies was one of the most important duties a leader could have. Jim couldn't consider himself the leader - not yet - but the lesson remained the same. This way, he could aid Sulu by protecting his weak spot.

"Fencing." Jim wasn't able to conceal the surprise that flashed across his face.

With the dusky light floating in through their little shuttle, the low and crackling voice patching through the comm, and Pike's command for them to get ready, Jim could almost believe he was dreaming. Except for the fact Spock wasn't there. He was usually present, if only to silently look at him and condone him as a failure. Jim forced himself to focus on what was happening now, pulling the hood over his hair and slipping on the helmet.

The sun that so diligently half-baked Vulcan lined the atmosphere of the planet in a corona of light. Jim felt his breath catch. Even now, the sheer beauty and awe that space could inspire in him was maddening.

The three stood in concert, reaching out with padded fingers to grab at the handles that lifted from the ceiling of the shuttle. Jim clenched and unclenched his fists around the metal bar, reassured momentarily by its strength. He wasn't afraid. There were only a few things he could say he actually feared, but falling out of a shuttle to land on something relatively the size of a pin - not one of them.

"Pull your chutes as late as possible," Pike advised. "Ready." Gravity turned against them; Jim winced as he swung bodily up and hit the top of the shuttle with a loud thump. His bruises were going to have bruises. "Dropping in three. Two. One."

His hand lifted to pull the lever, but he glanced over one shoulder with a smile curving along his lips. "Good luck," he said quietly. With one harsh yank, the belly of the craft dropped away, and then they were falling.

Jim's heartbeat thundered in his ears, and if he listened hard enough, he imagined he could hear the blood rushing through his veins. Other than that and the rasped breath fogging the plastic in front of his face, it was completely silent. Beneath him stood the unmoving rocks of his home, proud and tall and just as dusty as he remembered.

A grin made its way onto his face. Even if it weren't under the best circumstances, he'd missed this place, and he was glad to be back.

He shook himself, and swung his focus back on the mission. Being distracted here - falling, where seconds meant hundreds of meters gone - could be fatal. Tucking his arms in closer, Jim felt himself begin to shoot downwards, and adrenaline was blasting through his veins, and this was exactly what he'd been missing since he'd left Spock, and this was wonderful-

"Kirk to Enterprise," he heard himself say. The rational part of his brain - the one that gauged exactly how fast they were going, the part not completely giddy with the chemicals spraying through his system - had moved his limbs until he was falling parallel to the structure, staying a safe distance away from the strange spines and jutting pieces along the device. "Approximately five thousand meters from target."

Across the comm, seconds after, Jim heard Sulu shout in a voice gone hoarse, "Four thousand meters!"

Olson was giggling, the strange high-pitched sounds spilling out of him unchecked. "Three thousand!"

Eyes narrowing, Jim waited another couple of seconds until they were only two thousand meters away and pulled the cord that held his parachute in place. It shot out instantly, stopping his flight in mid-air, yanking his torso back, throwing all his limbs forward like a rag doll. Sulu copied him instantly, and the two watched in dismay as the red speck that was their teammate continued downwards.

Olson was positively cackling, now, sounding for all the world like a man gone insane, but he ignored the shouts of Jim and Sulu to pull his chute, and flung himself even farther downwards, so lost to the invincible feeling he was sure he could take on the entire Romulan crew and win.

Finally, when his computer system insisted he was only a thousand meters up, Olson did as he was told, ripping the cord out as fast as the wind pressure would allow. The billowing fabric swung out, but Jim could see the erratic flight and quickly surmised the device was giving off heat, if the updraft was to be believed.

Olson tugged on the straps that should have allowed him some modicum of control, and felt fear claw through him when he dipped sharply. His legs met the metal disk with a hollow thud, and he felt two simultaneous blasts of pain spike up through his feet and ankles. Some part of him decided, correctly, that he had shattered most of the bones when he'd made contact.

Jim watched, a lump in his throat and frustration burning in his belly, as Olson bounced and was sucked downwards into - Jim felt his eyes grow wide - a line of white-hot plasma. There was no time for a scream. In one instant, Olson was there. In the next - gone. Disentigrated, less than ash.

Jim sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth, and promised himself that Olson's death wouldn't be in vain. Nor would any of the other Starfleet officers' and cadets' be, either. He saw the dirt-brown metal rising up underneath him, and braced himself for impact.

It came jarringly all the same, and as his chute was yanked backwards, Jim scrabbled for a handhold, feeling the ridges and grooves pass him by as the same sucking heat engulfed him, threating Jim with Olson's demise.

No! I refuse to die this way! I haven't even said I'm sorry-

With a gasp and a jerk, Jim felt the muscles of his shoulder spark and flare to life, a sharp pain slicing through. But he pushed it away, because pain meant he was alive, and had found something to hold onto, and meant he could complete his mission. He lifted one hand - his parachute rippled and tugged harder, making Jim grimace in pain - and slapped it to his chest. With a whine that didn't bode well, the automatic retract sucked the chute back into its case.

Jim fell forward with a hissed curse, the instant relief only a momentary balm for his frazzled nerves. He tugged his helmet off, not quite willing to throw it aside but needing to drop it all the same, and stood, testing his stability on this new ground. Five yards away, he could hear the expulsion of air as a hatch began to lift; with a furious cry, Jim sprinted forward.

There was no time to think; it was only act and react. The Romulan pulled a wicked-looking rifle along with him, and tried to bring it around to bear, but Jim caught his wrists and held on with all of the stubborn strength he possed. The Romulan squeezed off several rounds, the light sickly green as the Narada's engines. Jim distantly heard Sulu's fearful shout, but he was kicking the Romulan in the stomach, and when he bowed his head in pain, Jim lashed out with his fists.

Jim took a step back in an attempt to grab his phaser, but the Romulan was smarter than he looked; with one eye already swollen shut, he whipped his hands forward and knocked the weapon away, sending it skittering over the sides of the platform. Jim reached blindly for another weapon and found himself beating the Romulan with his helmet. Even the green blood beginning to spatter the dark blue plastic had no effect on Jim; he was just a mindless being, fighting for his safety and the successful completion of his mission.

"Kirk," the Romulan hissed, and threw his arms out wide, trying to sweep Jim into a bear hug that he would use to toss him over the edge. Jim ducked under it, and when a second Romulan emerged, he traded blows between the two, always careful to dodge out of the way of their knuckles.

He could distantly hear the clang of boots on metal, and Jim spared a moment to see if Sulu was still alive. Flames gushed from a vent that the other man was not a foot away from, lying flat on his back and holding on for his life as the parachute mechanisms tried to reel him in. In the next instant, however, a sword unfolded from the region of his chest, and he swiped at the cables, rolling away and jumping to his feet.

Jim wanted to see if he was uninjured, but instinct shouted at him to pitch forward in a roll, so he did, and missed the stunning blow that would have been delivered to his head. What he didn't miss, though, was the kick that forced the air from his lungs and let him drop to the platform in a breathless heap. Thick hands yanked on his collar, and Jim was upright again, head spinning from the lack of air, and he backed up a few, uncertain steps.

The Romulan who knew his name advanced, a menacing look in his eyes, and Jim lunged forward, trying to rush him. He badly miscalculated, and the Romulan lifted him effortlessly over one shoulder. Fear bloomed in him - Mom dead, Sam dead, run away, coward! - and Jim felt his limbs freeze, and he was helpless to stop himself as momentum urged him forward and over, only saving himself by grace of grabbing onto a pole that ran along the outer edge of the disc.

Above him, the Romulan sneered, his tattoos glistening under a layer of sweat and grime. Lifting his lips in a soundless snarl, he raised one booted foot and brought it down. Jim summoned a reserve of strength he hadn't known he'd possessed and shifted to the right six inches.

The heat from the plasma was making a steady, burning ache crawl along his shins and thighs. Grunting with the effort, he managed to move one hand out of the way of the stamping Romulan, and he offered up a sly smile. Roaring now, the furious alien brought his foot down with a lithe agility Jim didn't know he had, and heard the corresponding crunch as several of his fingers fell prey.

Jim gasped as the stabbing pain rolled through him, but he forced himself to acknowledge it and push it away. As he prepared to hurl himself upwards, hopefully knocking the legs out from under the Romulan attacker, a sudden cry of agony lanced through the air. Jim looked up, gaping.

From the nameless Romulan's chest protruded a glimmering metal sword, now coated in green blood. It slid back out just as quickly, and Jim watched in fascinated horror as the light in his eyes dimmed and he toppled forward, diminishing to less than a pinprick of dark color against the light brown background in mere moments.

"Give me your hand!" Sulu cried. With another Herculean effort, Jim transferred all his weight to the probably-broken fingers and threw his other hand up. Sulu caught it firmly, and pulled sharply. They stumbled onto the platform, steady once more, both of them panting from their actions.

"Olson had the charges," Sulu said, wiping at the sweat that was streaming into his eyes.

Jim nodded. "I know!"

Panic was two steps away, he could tell. "What do we do?" Sulu shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. The roar of the plasma device was overwhelming at first, but it had long since dropped to an annoying buzz in Jim's ears. He glanced back and forth, possibilities leaping through his mind, thought of in one instant and discarded in the next. But his eyes landed on something else, and he surged forward.

"Use this!" He picked the modified phaser rifle up, kicked the other to Sulu, and held on to the trigger with all his might. It spat energy instantly, and as Jim directed it to the center of the device, sparks flew, adding another layer of heat to the muffling blanket that already pressed close.

The vibrations that had come from the plasma flickered, as if unable to decide whether to continue or not. With one great choking lurch, however, it ceased. Jim flashed Sulu a victorious smile, but the motion of something caught his eyes.

Jim jogged over and reached out a hand, and the wind from the thing's passing washed over him. Blinking in confusion, Jim stepped back, watching as it fell. Unconsciously, his eyebrows shot up. Beneath the platform was an ugly black scorch mark, smoke coiling up in lazy spirals and the rough rock of the crust exposed. The tube dropped out of his range of sight almost immediately, but dread held him rooted to his place. Sulu watched as well, mouth open.

Unable to pinpoint the bad feeling gnawing away at him, Jim held his arm to his mouth and activated the communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise," he said. "They launched something into the planet, in the hole they just drilled."

As he watched, a shockwave rippled out from the blast hole, and the mountains began heaving as earthquakes made the land shudder and jump. Dust filled the air almost immediately, a choking cloud that rose quickly almost to Jim's level in the atmosphere.

"No!" Jim didn't recognize the cry that was torn from his own mouth until Sulu had his arms wrapped around Jim's middle, and heard the smaller man panting with the effort of holding him back. He needed to get down there, to do something, anything, to help-

"Sulu to Enterprise," he gasped. "Beam us out of here, before Kirk throws himself off!"

Jim was struggling. Sulu didn't understand; couldn't he see the way the planet was tearing itself apart? There were innocent people down there, like the Vulcan classmates he'd had for years, or the shopkeepers who'd treated him like a person and not a pet, and Amanda and Sarek-

There was a tinny voice telling him not to move, but the platform shook beneath his feet and then they were being dragged upwards, except for the fact that they were standing on the edge and as it moved sharply, Jim's balance was compromised. They tumbled over the edge, wind shrieking in their ears, and Jim felt Sulu being ripped away from him.

Jim stuck his arms and legs out, forcing his body to right itself, and when he'd found Sulu again, he tucked his limbs in close and shot downwards like a bullet. Sulu didn't have a chute, but Jim did; he could get them both to relative safety and then he could go and get people aboard the Enterprise that needed to be kept safe.

But as he tackled Sulu and wrapped his legs around his waist and tugged once again on the cord, his parachute billowed out and was almost immediately torn away. Fear spiked through Jim, and all he could see was the ground rushing closer and closer through a sheen of wind-induced tears, and the silence was smothering.

A hazy shimmer grew into being and defined itself quickly. Spock gazed at him solemnly, one hand held out. He couldn't have been more than seventeen, Jim figured.

"It's okay, Jim," Spock murmured, in a voice that sounded like Spock and Amanda and Sarek and Sam and his mother all at once. "I forgive you."

Sulu was mouthing something incomprehensibly. Jim was silent, and he closed his eyes, something like a smile on his face. It's okay. He's not angry at me anymore.

Except-

Except he was mad. Angry, in fact, and infuriated, and hurt. Jim knew he was. Otherwise, he wouldn't have said what he did to Jim in the shuttle bay on Earth. Jim's eyes snapped open, and as the rocks began to distinguish themselves, surrounded by scrubby plants, he screamed. It was a scream of rage, of defiance, and he was still screaming when the popping lights began to surround them, and lava plumed next to them-

-the light was all he knew, and his voice cracked-

-and then they landed with a crash, and Jim felt the pad underneath them shatter. Sulu was next to him, sucking in air so fast Jim knew he would be hyperventilating soon, and he rolled away and clutched his head in his hands. "Thanks," he croaked.

"No problem." Jim forced himself to his feet, and found Spock standing at the base of the transporter chamber, teeth clenched and nostrils flared. The acting captain took one step upwards until he was at Jim's height level. Jim was startled to see the amounts of worry and fear and anger in Spock's dark eyes; he'd figured Spock had managed to be a better Vulcan while he was gone, but perhaps he was mistaken.

Then, in a move that startled the both of them, Spock pulled Jim forward and clasped his hands around Jim's arms right near the bend of his elbow, squeezing so tightly Jim felt his bones creak. "If you ever do that to me again," Spock choked out in a low voice, "I will lock you in your quarters until we are back at Earth." Jim smiled faintly, and loosed himself from Spock's grasp.

Spock had watched quietly as Jim and Sulu had completed their mission despite the loss of Olson and the explosives. When Jim had reported the strange object being launched to the planet's surface - or, more accurately, the hole in the planet's surface - Spock snapped out an order for Chekov to analyze it.

What he had found ripped away all tenuous threads Spock might have held over his control, and the reports from the transport technicians had only shattered it more completely. Not only was a black hole growing inside his home planet, threatening the six billion lives that lived there, Jim was falling out of control without a parachute, and his signature couldn't be locked on.

In that same instant, a hammer blow of pain landed just above his left ear, the manifest location of Jim's emotions, and Spock had stalked out of the bridge, only barely able to keep himself from running full-speed to the transporter himself. Chekov ran in milliseconds after he had, and in one brilliant move, he had rescued both Jim and Sulu. The relief he felt was drowned only by the pressing urge to save his mother and father.

"What's going on down there?" Jim asked tightly, his voice rough.

"Nero has created a singularity that will soon engulf the planet in a black hole," Spock replied, and gestured to the stunned crew to regather themselves and enter in the coordinates he rattled off. He crouched down onto one of the undamaged pads, charging his phaser in the same smooth motion. "I am going down to rescue the members of the Vulcan High Council, among which will be Mother and Father, so that the essence of our culture will be preserved. Energize."

"I'm coming with you." Jim knelt down next to him, one hand on Spock's shoulder, and before Spock could object, the crackling transporter beam had surrounded them both.

They emerged into being on a steep slope, next to which a ravine yawned that glimmered with heat. It was, in fact, not all that far from the little plateau that Spock and Jim had affectionately called their spring, where they went to escape the world.

Spock took off instantly, with all the grace of a desert creature in his home environment. He jogged lightly up the rocks, ignoring the crumbling cliffs beyond. People were much more important than items, or places. Jim followed hot on his heels, face red. After years off Vulcan, any tolerance for the heat or low atmosphere he'd built up had long since gone.

Slower than Spock would have liked, they made their way up, dodging the falling boulders that dropped around them. As soon as they hit level ground, Jim stopped to stare, eyes wide, at the sacred cave that all of Vulcan's leaders could hold in times of emergencies. Spock darted in, and Jim shook himself from his reverie, following him.

The narrow walls of the cave pressed in on the two, but Spock paid it little heed. Instead, he stumbled to a halt in the cavern, Jim bouncing off his back with a muttered curse. Spock absorbed the scene before him - the elders, gathered in a ring around the statue that supposedly held the katra of Surak - and wasted no time in bounding up the steps.

"Spock?" That was Amanda's voice. "Jim?"

"There's no time," Spock said, and gestured towards the entrance. "There are only seconds left until the planet destroys itself. We must evacuate!"

Heads turned. In a silent conversation too quick for Jim to follow, they had consulted with one another and decided to follow the half-blood and his human friend. They clustered around the pair, and Spock whirled around, a bundle of containted energy, jumping down the stone steps and waving the Vulcans onward. Jim stayed behind, urging stragglers to move a bit faster, and when he was satisfied, he caught up to Spock, trading a weary look.

Neither turned when the seismic activity upset the likeness of Surak and it toppled forward, killing someone, or when the roof of the tunnel began to collapse and a falling chunk of rubble flattened two more. All Spock had eyes for were his parents; Jim, the same. Spock had his arm around Amanda, his hand grasping hers, urging her forward, to keep her from lagging behind. Her headscarf fluttered and curled around her son, tricked by the wind into doing so.

Jim was last to come out, and for a painful moment, Spock feared he would not come out at all. But there he was, hair pasted to his sweaty forehead, black uniform covered in dust, and he smiled proudly when Spock's eyes met his, as if daring him to ask why he was so late. But Spock did not; instead, he flipped open his communicator and said, as calmly as he could manage, "Spock to Enterprise. Get us out now!"

Chekov replied in the affirmative, followed swiftly by the order not to move. Spock didn't flinch as Jim's hand wrapped around his forearm, or when the crackling beam of energy began to surround them.

Amanda turned slowly, her eyes wide, mouth open in a silent call.

Time slowed.

All Spock could comprehend was the look on his mother's face as the ground dropped out from under her, the way her hand flew up and she begged without words for her son, her Spock, to save her. Spock held his arm out, and the world lost its axis, and all thoughts of logic and control fled.

Something separated from him and dived forward, all concern for his own life apparently gone, as lost as his sanity. Jim grabbed Amanda's wrist, slamming into the ground with a pained grunt, his free hand digging into the sheet rock. Spock watched in horror as the flashes died out from around them, and then he was being torn apart and reassembled in the Enterprise's transporter room, one arm still aloft.

He took a step forward, and waited five more painful seconds that lasted an eternity; then Jim materialized, six feet off the ground, holding onto Amanda's arm as if it were his lifeline. He fell with a startled shout, a second pad cracking beneath him. Groaning, he curled inwards, but Amanda knelt down next to him. Spock held the urge to burst into relieved tears, smoothing his face into one of aloof gratitude. Even that, though, couldn't stop his eyes from widening or his breath from heaving in and out of his lungs as if his mother truly had perished.

"Why, Jim?" Amanda said, stroking his hair, her voice full of wonder and gratitude and something edging towards scolding. "You could have died."

"I wasn't about to lose my mother again," he whispered. His blue eyes were bright and swimming with unshed tears, both from pain and the sense that he had finally, finally made up for the mistake he'd made so long ago, in leaving his blood mom to rot in their house while he fled like a selfish child.

Amanda bowed her head and wept softly, the sound the only in the room besides that of the whirring machinery.

Chekov had his head in his hands, fingers tightening painfully through his curly hair. He was so sure that he had failed, and that the woman had been lost, and for her to be Spock's mom on top of it all! Spock might have been Vulcan, but familial love transcended emotionlessness. If someone had hurt Chekov's mother, or failed to bring her to safety, Chekov would have made sure they hurt just as bad as he would, upon knowing of the death.

But he hadn't done that. He had saved her. Her and Jim Kirk both. It was a wonder he didn't keel over from the stress.

Spock sat in the medbay next to Jim's bed, in full sight of Amanda and Sarek. With despair and mourning in his heart, he watched as Vulcan - the planet he had grown up on, the planet he had known as home, the planet he had made his first true friend on - was consumed from the inside out, flashes of red lightning lashing out and dragging in the rocks he had ran on, the plants he had studied, the house he had slept in.

"Acting Captain's log, stardate 2258.42. There has been no word from Captain Pike; I therefore classify him as a war hostage of the Romulan criminal Nero." He swallowed, throat bobbing, and on the bed next to him, Jim shifted uncomfortably. McCoy said something to him, though, and Jim shrank back, holding his bandaged hand close to his bandaged chest. "Nero, who has destroyed Vulcan, my home planet, and murdered close to all of its six billion inhabitants."

Sarek bent his head to murmur something comforting to his wife; Amanda shook him off with a firm word and a gentle press of her fingertips to his.

"The essence of our culture has survived, thanks to the elders of the High Council. However, other than that, I estimate no more than ten thousand of my people have survived." His voice stopped, though Spock felt no emotion to cloud it, nor did he consciously want to. "I am now a member of an endangered species."

The words were bitter ashes in his mouth, and finally, Spock could see what he was feeling. Regret, pain, loss, and the mental backlash as every Vulcan projected their own unstable emotions onto each other, looking for the temple of concentration that the had planet provided.

Spock stood, unable to take the misery that was being quadrupled in the area. Clenching his hands so they would stop shaking, he strode easily towards the lift, and two sets of footsteps followed. Taking a deep breath, Spock stepped through the doors and turned; both Jim and Uhura slid in behind him.

Jim leaned againt the wall, panting; he'd snapped several of his ribs after his two unplanned falls, and the burns along his arms and legs itched under the bandages. But Uhura locked eyes with Spock, and, never breaking that contact, she pressed the emergency stop button. The lift shuddered to a halt.

She took Spock's face in her hands, smoothing them down his cheeks, and wrapped her arms around him, murmuring apologies into his shirt. Spock bore it with the patience of a stone bearing the wind, and it wasn't until she lifted her face to kiss him that he moved. Gently setting his hands on her shoulders, he carefully backed away.

Blushing fiercely, she dipped her head down. "But I thought-?"

"No." Spock was calm, and his tone was apologetic. "I am sorry for giving you that impression, Nyota. It was not what I intended." Ignoring the way Jim's brows rose in interest, he continued to look at her.

"Tell me what you need," she whispered, running her hands up and down his arms. "Anything. Please."

"I need the crew to continue performing admirably." No inflection, to show how much it hurt that most of his race was dead. No tone to give her the idea he needed physical comfort. His father would have been proud, Spock thought distantly.

Uhura nodded once, then again, and started the lift up. "Okay," she said softly. "Okay." Throwing one last, teary glance over her shoulder, she passed through the open doors and walked off, head bowed.

Jim hobbled around at once and stopped the lift again. Spock just looked at him, absorbing every detail he could: the way the lights shone on his dirty blond hair, the gleam in his blue eyes, the set of his jaw, and the way he curled around himself to hide the source of his pain. Spock felt the grief strike him like a physical weight, then, and he gasped and shook.

"It's okay," Jim murmured, and he was the one to initiate the contact this time, threading his fingers through Spock's hair as he wrapped his arms around the taller man. "Well, it's not okay, and it never will be, but I'm here. Amanda's here, and Sarek's here. We're okay. We'll get through this. We'll make Nero pay for this." And Spock, damn his human emotions, began to tremble, tears burning and crawling behind his lids. The tips of his ears flushed in embarrassment, and if Jim had looked up from the crook of Spock's neck, he would have seen they were a dark green, like pine trees in winter.

He didn't want to cry. He hadn't cried since he was a child. But Jim's own sadness - that some of the Vulcans he'd known were gone now, too, along with all those cadets he'd known who'd lost their lives in a doomed endeavor to help a doomed planet - rebounded and ached above his ear, and then Spock swallowed his tears and held on as if the world were falling down around them again. Jim didn't protest as the tightness of Spock's grip made his freshly healed ribs ache all over again, not when his low sobs were doing the same.

It didn't matter that Jim was cruel to do this to him, when he knew Spock was still angry, and now grieving. But at the moment, all Spock cared about was a familiar and welcome man who knew what he felt, and felt it too, and didn't scorn him for it, and didn't try to coddle him. There was still an apology owed, Spock promised himself as Jim began to weep softly. They would still talk about that.

But right now, there was just their mingled sorrow, and the warmth of their bodies pressed together. And that was enough for him.

Notes:

Yay, happy birthday Wish! A year ago today I started this little project. You all are the best people in the world. And hugs make everything better. So there.

Artwork spotlight time: I should have done this a long time ago, so here we are. From keter; http:(slashslash)i35(dot)tinypic(dot)com/ohmo8n(dot)jpg. From The-Archaic-One; http:(slashslash)point-ofno-return(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Wish-155571582. View and enjoy, because I certainly did!

I don't own Star Trek (unless you count the DVD and the soundtrack on my iPod). Please leave a review, if you love me, or if you want to squee about the elevator scene. Peace!