Divergence


Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet Base – Sato Campus, year 2246

The last and only time he visited the desert planet, Jim Kirk had been preoccupied with making sure he didn't plummet to his death. There had also been Romulans trying to kill him, Romulans trying to blow up the planet, and Sulu falling without a chute. While he hadn't the luxury to take note of his surroundings, he couldn't miss the heat; hitting the planet's atmosphere had been like jumping into a blast furnace. There was nothing quite like it – Vulcan was scorching. This time though, the searing wind that whipped across his face seemed more like a greeting, carrying with its caress bittersweet half-remembrances.

Not his home; he had never been here, barring that one space dive. But Ambassador Spock had.

Despite Bones' warnings, Jim lowered his cloak's hood, seduced by the sultry hot breeze and the faint scent of ozone generated by distant sand storms that sprung up constantly like afternoon showers in Singapore. The echo of transferred memory sang through him, stirring up a swell of adoration.

Ahead, their greeting party approached; a Vulcan woman with impeccable hair dressed in a desert version of the enlisted personnel uniform led a disgruntled Captain Pike in his regulation ensemble. Having no such discomforts in his airy non-regulation robes, Jim grinned and leaped off the last step of the shuttle onto solid ground, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. As soon as his group cleared the flight zone, the shuttle doors snapped shut and blinkers flashed to warn everyone of its imminent takeoff.

"Welcome to Vulcan," Pike shouted over the whine of shuttle engines cycling, "This way!"

Jim glanced back to check on his people then fell into step with the older man, who stalked with purpose to a flat building emblazoned with a faded Starfleet Medical symbol. The triple-door airlock entry system kept out the heat and dust to the relief of many, but Jim didn't like how it also killed the scents so fundamental to the planet – the tang of ozone and a faint charcoal burn.

"This is Doctor Lee," Pike introduced, gesturing to an Asian man who turned from his datapad to examine the arrivals with great interest, "your crew will need to be checked over before being allowed to wander the base."

"Oh thank the Lord," Bones groaned, immediately accosting Doctor Lee by seizing the man's shoulders. "My good man, just show me where the tri-ox is."

Jim wondered if he should step in as Bones managed to brow-beat Doctor Lee into giving him access to the tri-ox and letting him in on inoculations, for he insisted the crew was his business; while Doctor Lee would only see them this once, he'd be stuck with them.

"I thought you said he was only rude when being fired at."

"Actually, this is him polite," Jim hid a laugh at the incredulous look on the older man's face.

"Why in the world did you make him your CMO?"

Before he could answer, a new voice cut in; "Captain Pike."

Spinning around, Jim found himself face to face with an elderly Vulcan man with gray hair and a craggy well-weathered face. Despite his obviously advanced age, he was the definition of robust and his eyes shone with alertness, his gaze reminding Jim of the way cats looked when hunting for prey. He was clearly older than Ambassador Sarek, and yet not quite as old as Ambassador Spock.

"Ah Mister Sabek, thank you for coming on short notice," Pike smile, "Jim, may I introduce the groundskeeper, Mister Sabek. Mister Kirk here is the commanding officer in charge, and will coordinate with you regarding crew lodgings."

Sabek gave a deferent nod which Jim responded to with one of his own.

"I come to serve."

"Your service honors us," Jim replied on rote.

If Sabek thought it was strange for a Human to know the ritual words, the groundskeeper didn't bring it up as Pike left them to welcome the next batch of arrivals. The Vulcan immediately launched into a detailed description of their accommodations, the Syrran building, which was on the very outskirts of the Sato base. With full medical facilities, a transporter station and public areas, the complex was entirely self-sufficient, powered by on-site solar collectors and even had closed environmental systems just like one would find on the Enterprise. It had once been the base's main housing, hewn out of rock for camouflage as its construction period fell during the Romulan-Earth War. The continual expansion of Starfleet presence once the Federation Charter had been signed meant that within a decade, it had been outgrown. Despite the clinical language, Jim could tell that there was a sentimental attachment for groundskeeper, and Sabek was pleased to see it inhabited once more.

"It is directly connected to the Starfleet transporter network, but there is no direct connection to Shikahr. The only external connection available is the terminal in K'lan-ne; from there, one may travel to Vomeek Plaza in Raal to reach the main continent, before traveling onwards to Shikahr. Two transport monitors shall be on duty at all times..."

The Vulcan handed him a data card as he spoke on, which Jim gratefully accepted. While his memory was good, this was a lot of information to absorb and unlike Lieutenant 0718, his brain was not part machine.

"Here are the details of the transporter network, contact details for key support personnel, codes for the food synthesizers and industrial replicators, various catering arrangements available if needed, and blueprint specifications for your lodgings, Captain."

"Thank you, Mister Sabek."

"If you will attend to your medical requirements now," the groundskeeper said pointedly, "we shall begin room assignments."

"Of course," Jim felt his mouth stretch into an irrepressible grin.

Sabek's eyebrows quirked pointedly, obviously of the mind that the young Human captain wasn't moving fast enough. Spinning on his heel, Jim apologetically cut into the queue for the tri-ox injection and wondered if he'd just discovered a new universal truth: if you wanted a job done right, you didn't do it yourself – you got a Vulcan to help you.


USS Enterprise, currently docked at 40 Eridani-A Starfleet Construction Yard, year 2246

"Lieutenant, if I may be of assistance."

I'm fine, she almost snapped before recognizing who it was. Nyota Uhura paused in her struggle to shove her regulation travel case into the overhead compartment and turned to face the Vulcan. She waved for him to go ahead. Without even needing to strain himself, Spock reached up to the handle she could barely touch and fitted her case into a sliver of space left on top of all the other bags. Relieved that it was done, she grinned with tired satisfaction.

"Thanks."

Spock tilted his head regally in acknowledgement and took his seat, PADD in hand as he finalized last checks.

"Attention all passengers, shuttle to depart."

A thrum of audible anticipation went through the crew in the forward cabin. Relieved that she was finally off-duty, Uhura sank down next to Scotty who had somehow, amazingly, fallen asleep in the five minutes he'd been onboard. Spock gave the man a look of deep Vulcan aggravation as the Scotsman began to snore opposite him, jaw slack and drooling. Hiding her snicker, she buckled in then cast her memories back to her very first meeting with the chief engineer where she'd called him a vagrant. Uhura smiled begrudgingly as Scotty's snores rose in volume, because while heading to a planet that shouldn't exist remained emotionally draining, at least the company was good.

"Cut him some slack." She met Spock's disapproval with an exasperated smile, "I think he's been awake for four shifts."

"Which is barred by regulation and against direct medical orders set by Doctor McCoy." The young commander studied the chief engineer's haggard face, "The human body is not meant to withstand such stress – I do not understand; Ensign Chekov or myself would have been perfectly capable of understanding his instructions and overseeing their completion."

Uhura read between the lines with fluency and grinned; Spock was worried about the chief engineer. "You know that he's intimidated by you, don't you?"

Spock cocked a considering eyebrow before turning back to his PADD. "I believe that Mister Scott proved since our first encounter that he delights in resisting the coercion of rank."

"True, but he respects you. The prospect of answering with anything less than a perfect all-ready to you is…" Uhura cast about for an appropriate word to make the Vulcan understand how much the engineer respected him – "Daunting."

Spock did not reply, fingers lingering over his datapad. For anyone else, it seemed to be a dismissal but the head of communications only felt fond, being able to differentiate this silence as confusion, not censure. Oblivious to them, Montgomery Scott turned to the window with a grunt, his snores quieting with the change in posture.

"Lieutenant, I have not yet received a reply from the Sector 3 Requisitions Office."

"Chief Sivapakiam says that the quartermaster won't be able to fulfill our request until she receives a shipment from the USS Musashi."

"Has there been any progress on locating replacement phase transition coils?"

Uhura knew she was staring and most probably smiling like a fool. It had been a long day, preparing the ship for lockdown and then getting everyone organized to leave. With only two shipyard shuttles in service, it had taken all day to ferry everyone off. As ship's first officer, Spock was always the last to leave but this was the first time that Uhura had been required to stay behind. Without the usual logistics support of Approach Control to keep track, she'd been needed on the bridge to coordinate. It had been a full shift of busy work, so frankly, she was behind on self-reflection time. She imagined that was doubly true for Spock – and yet he was calm, even comfortable. It was a good look for him and though she had expected the successful completion of their mission to be cathartic, she wondered if…

Well, she imagined that there was nothing quite the same as meeting your own alternate self to reframe one's perspective.

The Vulcan's typing paused. "Lieutenant?" He prompted.

"The USS Erzsebet lost their warp plasma distribution manifold, and they have priority. Also the USS Montballen needs new phase transition coils for all their cargo transporters, so we will have to wait for the next convoy shipment." Uhura leaned forward, unable to keep her observation to herself, "You seem happy."

Spock looked up, taken off guard by the sudden declaration. Just as quickly, he turned his gaze away and tried to refocus. Was he that obvious?

Reaching out, Uhura placed a comforting hand upon the jut of his knee like she sometimes would when they talked – a moment after, she was reminded of the gesture's intimacy and pulled away before it could grow awkward. "I'm glad."

Though there was no agreement, the Vulcan made no direct verbal refutation either, "The mission is not over, Nyota."

No, it wasn't. Uhura allowed her gaze to drift out the side viewport. In all the fictionalizations or documentaries of Starfleet, this next part was rarely covered. They'd already laid the dead to rest and triaged the injured, but now came the months in between the climax and the epilogue: recovery. It was a crucial time for both ship and crew, and in their unique situation, the beginning of a new mission: to find a way home. It was possibly an even more harrowing exercise than tracking down and containing the Narada.

While that had threatened destruction and mortal peril, and demanded both daring and courage, this rested on their resolve and intellect, and a good dose of luck. Despite being safely ensconced in Federation space, they were under express orders to isolate themselves from any Starfleet personnel and minimize interactions with the civilian population, and would embark on repairing the Enterprise without logistical support. Overall their chances of returning to their timeline was theoretical at best and whimsical at worst.

Spock abruptly straightened. "Lieutenant – Uhura– Nyota."

With silent astonishment, she realized that he was stammering.

"As a friend, it is my wish to seek your advice on a private matter."

Nyota Uhura waited patiently, recognizing that this was unusual, perhaps even a pivotal moment in their personal association.

After a terse huff of breath, Spock began. "Though it was unwise to speak of a future made irrelevant by the many things that have happened in our timeline, I nevertheless conversed with Ambassador Spock at the conclusion of our maiden voyage…"

Feeling a growing sense of both dread and fascination, Uhura listened – and tried to imagine what a meeting between the Spock she knew and the one whom she had heard about from Kirk would be like, what meeting her own self from a hundred years in the future would be like. It was fantastical, something from a story.

"He informed me that in his timeline, he had a professional and personal relationship with the captain, and urged me to consider the benefits that our continued acquaintance could bring to Starfleet, and myself personally. He was confident…that despite our conflicting personalities and mindsets, we were uniquely enabled to urge one another to our full potential."

The barest suggestion of wonderment and confusion in equal measures creased his brow, both remembered and afresh.

"He expressed that despite his action having robbed me a future of some if not all that he knew, he did not desire to deprive me of the revelation of all that the captain and myself could accomplish together, a…friendship that would define us both in ways that I could not yet imagine."

It almost felt too much, to listen to all of this. In a few sentences, he had reframed her entire perception on the remainder of their relationship after that very first mission. Uhura noted the clear avoidance of Jim Kirk's name.

"I didn't know you two had met."

The implications of everything revealed by Spock stretched between them in an awkward silence.

"It was inadvertent."

She didn't point out that sticking around after the initial shock of meeting himself to speak to the ambassador wasn't inadvertent. Nor their discussion turning to Kirk. Nor that that his elder self had attempted some Vulcan form of matchmaking to get Spock to accept his commission. And that it had worked.

"When did you talk?"

"We encountered one another, at the shuttle bay, a week prior to the departure for New Vulcan."

A few days before the Enterprise was due to jet off, and two weeks after she had already accepted her commission, under the impression that they were going to maintaining a long-distance relationship.

Looking as aggrieved as a Vulcan had any right to be – which is to say, not enough to calm a frustrated Human on the receiving end – Spock met her eyes, solemn. "I did not contrive to hide these facts from you, though you may come to that conclusion. I understood the ambassador's benevolent intentions, but I believed that my future could not be determined by his past – my future is my own, independent from his…"

But, she thought, there was always a 'but.'

She wasn't angry, disillusioned maybe, and perhaps even slightly petulant. Even if she had ended the relationship, she had at least thought Spock was serious enough about them to have considered her in his decision to be on the Enterprise.

"Was he right?" She asked, bitter.

A second later, she felt juvenile and wished she could take it back. Though she didn't know the ambassador, she knew Captain James Tiberius Kirk, a man wholly different from the Jim Kirk who had tried to pick her up. While she may have scoffed once upon a time at the idea that he could be of consequence to anyone, she respected him too much after three years of service to summarily dismiss it. She would go to the ends of the galaxy for him, and couldn't fault Spock if he felt the same.

"His idea had merit," Spock admitted, sotto voce. "Though I do not believe he meant for me to pursue the relationship beyond its bearing upon my career."

Oh.

As a communications officer, Uhura knew that accurate comprehension of a conversation was as much about what was being said as what wasn't being said. Her expertise in communications and personal experience with Spock had served her well in deciphering the science officer, but in this very moment, she doubted her interpretation.

Holy Asimov on a pogo stick, was he saying what she thought he was saying?

"The society we inherited lived with the aftermath of unprecedented devastation. I was…enticed, by the notion of achieving the vision set out by the ambassador. And freed from the burdens of rebuilding the Vulcan civilization by his undoubtedly more experienced presence in my stead, I accepted my commission." Spock spoke reluctantly, so quiet that he sometimes dipped below the humdrum of background conversation and she strained to hear him. "I did not expect an easy transition upon the Enterprise, and for a time, I was correct. The captain…perplexed me, and I believe that I perplexed him in return."

Uhura would have snorted at that understatement if she wasn't distracted by the conclusion that Spock appeared to be leading her towards.

"When this changed, I was surprised, and pleased. Now…" Pausing to shore up his courage, Spock spoke on, giving no hint of nervousness except for an abrupt break in eye contact, "The captain has signaled that he would be willing to consider possibilities of an intimate relationship."

Bewildered by the direction this conversation had taken, and somewhat blindsided by the revelation that Spock wanted to date someone else and that someone was Jim Kirk, Uhura slumped back against her seat and resisted the urge to exclaim 'Wow' like a fourteen-year old. She wasn't sure how she felt. On one hand it made perfect sense – she had seen the two of them together. And yet on the other, she couldn't understand how this had happened – when had this happened? She knew they were close, but that was like saying Doctor McCoy and Kirk were close, or Sulu and Chekov were close, or Scotty and Keenser were close. She saw them every day and despite their incredible command dynamic and friendship, she hadn't noticed this. And why was Spock even telling her? Sure, it was somewhat polite considering their history but–

In the potent silence, a single snore pierced the tension and deflated it as quickly as it had built up. Scotty had turned from the window, unnoticed by either of them, and had resumed his snoring. Their eyes met and if it were anyone else, they probably would have broken down in giggles, but one only raised an eyebrow while the other grinned.

"Are you asking me for permission?" Uhura probed, trying to understand where this was all coming from. "Spock, you don't need to do that. I mean, more or less, I broke up with you."

"Though our relationship was never formalized and largely exploratory, it was…for me, important."

Touched despite herself, she nodded, "Okay, well, thank you, for telling me – but, it's none of my business. Good luck with Kirk, I mean it."

"I appreciate your restrained approval."

Her smile turned wry.

There was another silence as both officers fell into contemplation.

For Uhura, she arrived at the conclusion that there was an ulterior motive for this discussion, though unsure what, and decided to give Kirk the shovel talk on Spock's behalf once they start seeing each other.

For Spock, he wondered how he came to be here, in this moment. Against his own good judgment, he had come abroad the Enterprise, uncertainty shadowing his every step. But Spock's sense of impending doom gradually gave way to the daily marathon of life aboard with the young captain; Jim Kirk was energy in humanoid form, constantly in motion. He possessed formidable intelligence, acute perception, and despite what his outward behavior would suggest, a ruthlessly logical mind. His attention span was exhausting on one subject, while nonexistent on another, and he was possibly more compulsively curious than Spock. He had enjoyed Jim's company and hadn't expected that. Or to begin telling tales of his planet, his experiments and all the worlds and peoples he had seen traveling with his father, night after night as they mapped stars and explored worlds.

A commotion from the front cabin drew both of them from their thoughts. The heightened emotions thrumming through the other crewmembers had reached a fever pitch now, as everyone seated to portside strained for a glance out the starboard viewports. Uhura turned to the viewport across the aisle and found herself arrested by the sight.

A solidly red orange speck grew larger and larger. No one needed to murmur its name for they all knew; the tangible summation of all their sacrifice; their justification for taking the risk of never being able to get home again:

T'Khasi, Minshara, Ti-Valka'ain, Vulcan.

Uhura spared a small glance at Spock, feeling her eyes tear she caught the hint of tenderness that he tried to hide. A smile played upon her lips as she went back to enjoying the views.

"He likes Chinese food."

The Vulcan glanced at her, surprised by the non-sequitur. He didn't ask her to clarify who she was speaking of. Overhead, the pilot's voice informed them that they were entering the outer atmosphere and beginning their descent.


Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet Base – Sato Campus, year 2246

It was evening on Vulcan when his shift supervising the Enterprise repairs came to an end. Currently, Sulu was on duty at conn; back at the base, Jim Kirk quietly entered the ambassadorial suite but walked past his shared bedroom, mindful that Bones had probably just gotten to sleep. The man needed every moment of it, as far as he was concerned. The day shift had started with engineers taking a tumble when a walkway decided to collapse, followed by a full-scale medical emergency that afternoon when flammable materials from a cannibalized torpedo caught fire in the main cargo hangar. Needless to say, Sickbay had been overrun.

After his shower, Jim followed the delicious smell wafting from the kitchenette he'd noticed coming in. It had already been tidied up but a covered plate was left for him beside a full pitcher of blue-colored juice. Jim sighed as he lifted the cover; a perfectly wholesome salad that looked about as appetizing as cardboard. Knowing the caterers wouldn't introduce anything harmful to Humans, he tried the drink instead. It was kind of like pineapple to his surprised pleasure, and Jim poured himself a second glass before looking to see if anyone was up.

A low light was shining in the living area. Jim thought it had been left on for him until soft strains of music drifted up the stairs.

Looking pale and uneasy, Chekov was lying on the couch with his arm flung over his forehead. Sitting in the adjacent armchair, Spock was strumming a Vulcan lyre, like the one he kept on board the Enterprise except that this one appeared older, more worn – and Jim couldn't put a finger on it but it sounded different somehow to what the Vulcan usually tuned it to.

With unnerving precision, Spock turned to face him despite Jim trying his hardest to be quiet. Waving for the man to continue, he fell into the armchair opposite. It was of Vulcan design thus hard as a rock, but several pillows which hadn't been there when he left for his shift added some much needed comfort. Jim wondered who he had to thank for this, Spock or Sabek.

The Vulcan ended the tune. "Good evening, Jim."

"Hey," he smiled tiredly.

On the couch, Chekov opened his eyes in response to the whispering, took in the fact that it was his captain and not the feared Doctor McCoy, and closed them again.

"Are you aware of Mister Torosian's current status, captain?"

"He's stable – didn't Bones update you when he came back?"

"Doctor McCoy was in no state for conversation."

In short, Spock didn't have the heart to pester the exhausted doctor for all the details like regulations insisted a proper First Officer should. "Torosian is fine, all the others too, the Academy hospital is holding everyone overnight. We're scheduled for a visit tomorrow – how's your arm?"

Pushing up his left sleeve, Spock held up his arm to show off the pseudo-skin patches, "Merely superficial damage."

Being first on the scene, the Vulcan hadn't held back on diving into the carnage to offer assistance to crew pinned underneath the wreckage, in turn getting quite a few nasty scrapes and cuts. Jim had heard about him being injured of course, but by then he'd been ankles deep in damage control while Spock went off to deliver the one unlucky crewman who'd managed to break a hip, an arm and a leg to the Vulcan Academy Hospital.

"Still, take it easy; I'm sure Bones would agree with me that you need a day off." As he said this, Jim frowned, his eyes raking down Spock's body and noting what the Vulcan was wearing. He knew what the man wore to relax, and those slim-fit trousers with matching charcoal jacket weren't it. The Vulcan looked like he was dressed to go out. Jim wondered what was happening tonight.

"I'm surprised you're still up. You and Chekov were both supposed to be asleep hours ago."

"I believe Mister Chekov is asleep."

They both turned to where the young ensign lay on the couch. In support of Spock's observation, Chekov gave a soft little snore before shifting to curl up on his side away from them.

"Is he okay?"

"Mister Chekov had retreated to his private room for rest but was unable to due to nausea and migraine symptoms. Doctor M'Benga diagnosed a mild case of Exoplanet Adaptation Syndrome."

He winced, because poor Chekov – being told you were somewhat allergic to the whole damn planet when you had to stay there for another two months had to suck. "We could send him back to the ship."

It wouldn't be unusual. Despite recommendations that living on the planet as opposed to staying on the ship while repairs were in progress was psychologically stabilizing, Scotty had packed up after his mandated week of shore leave and went back to his usual quarters, insistent that the repair effort would be best served by his continual presence in case of any mishap. Since they were actually on schedule, there was probably some truth to that.

"It is under consideration but for the moment, Mister Chekov is confined to the base until further notice."

Jim raised his eyebrows, surprised. "No hypo-shot? Usually I'm the last person to recommend it, but I would have thought letting Chekov get some rest would be the highest priority."

"As there is a need to monitor the progression of his symptoms, Doctor M'Benga decided against pain relief as they may dull the senses."

Jim nodded and studied the lyre comfortably cradled in Spock's arms, a smile trying to stretch his lips despite his best efforts to control it; the last thing he wanted was to come off as mocking. "So you decided to play him a lullaby."

"I offered to monitor Mister Chekov," Spock corrected dryly, "and help alleviate his symptoms."

"Of course," Jim conceded, fond.

A familiar look of warmth passed between them and suddenly it was like he was back there, alone with Spock in his quarters aboard the Enterprise, the eve of the battle with Nero bearing down upon his shoulders and adrenalin pumping his veins, heightening every sensation. Memories of what Spock tasted like, the heat of their bodies pressed together, came flooding back after being locked away for so long. Jim exhaled, a buzz of anticipation coursing through him, because here they were again, alone together.

On the sofa, Chekov let out a sigh as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

Well, he thought with resignation, almost alone.

Spock silently rose, setting the lyre down in his vacated spot. "Though it is considered late by shipboard time, the evening has just begun in this part of the hemisphere and it would be a pleasing change to partake a meal at a local restaurant. If you are not averse to the suggestion, company would be much appreciated."

Smiling, Jim slid his fingers across the outstretched hand and felt an almost inappropriate thrill when he was easily pulled to his feet. "You read my mind, Mister Spock."

It had been a long time, so long that he felt almost giddy to be in the Vulcan's presence.

A week of mandated leave with Bones watching over the senior officers like a hawk had turned into long busy weeks negotiating for resources with local Starfleet, managing the rehabilitation of the injured and a gazillion other things. Despite attempts to continue with regular patterns of life by keeping a shipboard timetable, living on a planet with its own times of day made it close to impossible to keep up – and in turn, their meet ups for dinner ceased. Jim had forced himself to be content with lingering glances over shared group meals, official repair progress checks around the Enterprise which gave the occasional moment of privacy, and a few games of chess. It wasn't the same though, since the senior staff shared their living space. While it was nice having M'Benga or Chekov commentate on games, Jim missed the fascinating rambling conversations that occurred over the chessboard when it was just them.

"So, where are we going?"

The Vulcan opened his mouth to speak but then seemed to reconsider.

"It would be easier to simply show you," he finally stated.

Taking the quick route to the transporters, he stayed behind as Spock spoke quietly to the clerk on duty. The Vulcan, dressed in the standard navy knee-length stiff tunic and trousers of public servants, seemed politely interested in their destination. If he thought it was odd for a Vulcan male involved in classified Starfleet business to be taking a senior Starfleet officer out, he didn't twitch an eyebrow.

Moments after stepping onto the platform, the room dissolved in a flurry of light and they appeared in a busy transporter terminal, being ushered to the left by a young woman in a feminine version of the same navy uniform.

"This way," Spock murmured at his shoulder in the crowd, "Stay close, Jim."

WELCOME TO K'LAN-NE, the signage on the disembarkation mat announced.

Jim was surprised; K'lan-ne was the biggest city on this island and at three thousand klicks, it wasn't exactly close to the Starfleet base. Perhaps though, he had to readjust his concept of 'local restaurant' – Vulcan was almost twice Earth's size and possessed uninhabited areas large enough to encompass the United States.

Shuffling along behind Spock and trying to avoid elbowing anyone, Jim only noticed the crisp script over the grand arched exits when he was directly underneath them. PLA'KHUSH SQUARE, it stated in severe blocky Standard. He grinned because, well, Pla'khush Square? That Vulcans would call a place Sapphire Square seemed uncharacteristically romantic. But before he had a chance to ask, they exited the building and hit the stairs. Any questions that Jim had were forgotten at the view.

An expansive open-air public square lay before them, guarded by striking pillars of red stone that towered over visitors and buildings alike. Visually struck by the engineering gone into their construction, he could sense the immensity of what had been attempted. Squinting, he realized one could just make out the image of a Vulcan in each pillar of rock, facial features and sweeping robes somehow disappearing into the furrows and lines of the stone to merge with it. With the well-positioned lights highlighting groves and lengthening shadows, it was pretty dramatic.

"They are representations of ancient gods, from before the time of Awakening."

"Ancient gods?"

"The ancient Vulcans practiced paganism," Spock explained, his voice falling into a rhythmic cadence. "They worshiped anthropomorphic deities that represented concepts such as war, death and peace, through acts of animal sacrifice and ritualistic competitions, not unlike that of the ancient Greco-Roman culture of Earth."

"Did you memorize that from the travel advisory?"

Spock shot him a look that sent laughter bubbling up through his chest. Charmed by how hard the Vulcan was trying, Jim swallowed down his guffaws and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, you promised me dinner."

Jim Kirk had eaten a lot of food on a lot of planets in his three years careening about the galaxy, but at the end of the day, his favorite was still a toss between Chinese and a juicy steak. Unfortunately it was pretty rare to come across a decent Chinese restaurant, and cows didn't like space. This one was, naturally, situated near an annex campus of the Vulcan Science Academy. It was called Pinocchio's and according to Spock, was owned by a Chinese family who had emigrated from Earth. Others would assume that a Chinese restaurant would be run by Humans, but Jim learned the hard way to always check. Personally, he had enjoyed the Tellar attempt at Shandong chicken – though it was made with some local bat creature – but as a San Francisco native and the great-great-grandson of a proud Chinese-Filipino restaurateur, Sulu had been driven to tears. The visit to Bones after they had discovered the bat wasn't entirely safe for Human consumption was well, messy.

Of course, since Spock selected the restaurant, he knew the food would be safe; and since Spock had spent years living in San Francisco with Chinatown a shuttle hop away, he was certain that the place would be somewhat decent. The moment he stepped inside, Jim felt like he'd been transported back to Madam Chao's, just adjacent to the main gates of Starfleet Academy, a favorite haunt of students and instructors alike with its decent servings of noodles, vegetarian steamed buns, black bean beef, and fried rice. Whatever was cooking in the kitchen smelled delicious, and the hostess herself, a short slip of a woman with an accent as distinctive as Chekov's Russian, ran the joint like a drill sergeant.

Although most diners were Human or passed for one, Jim spotted several Vulcans, a merry group of Denobulans and even a Tellarite trio as they were led through the restaurant. Unlike Madam Chao's, this place was not full of mismatched furniture and tacky posters. Crisp white linens, jade-green china, and gorgeous twisting-crystal tumblers imported from Parvonis IV made up the tables – which made Jim squirm because despite hoping this was a date, he wasn't expecting anything fancier than Madam Chao's when Spock announced they were having Chinese. Soon however, he forgot about his discomfort, thoroughly distracted by the delicious food.

Though meatless, the mini steamed bun with its mashed chestnuts and pickled vegetables was delicious, and Jim ate two before moving onto the deep-fried garlic yam balls coated in Vulcan spices. They talked but if someone were to question him later, Jim had no idea what they talked about. Deciding to try the local brew, he drank more than he should have since his tolerance wasn't as it used to be; it wasn't enough to make him stupid but he was clearly tipsy. Soon, questions about the history of the area (ancient settlement – archaeological excavations were still in progress) and how Spock knew about this place (he remembered coming here as a child with his mother and her friends when they visited) turned into more random conversation. It jumped from Andorian mating rituals to how twisting-crystal was invented then Jim declared he would gladly become a vegetarian if he got to eat these delicious steamed buns every day and whether Vulcans should actually be classified as vegans, and then somehow he started yammering about the croaky pipes in the old house back in Iowa, and mystifyingly, baked goods.

"You know what I miss most since leaving for Starfleet?" Jim chased his spoonful of vanilla yarduk pudding across his bowl, "A decent oven. There's nothing like freshly baked bread."

"There were several bakeries on site at the Academy, and the Enterprise possesses a galley kitchen as well as replicators which can be programmed to produce any type of bread you desire."

"I know, I know – but it's not the same, Spock! Back in Iowa, I made my own bread. I used to knead the dough till it was crying for relief and lemme tell you, it makes a difference – oh the texture! And there's that smell, that freshly baked yeasty smell…hmm…" Jim groaned in remembered pleasure around his spoonful of pudding.

"This discussion is most illogical," Spock declared, "And you are inebriated."

Looking up, Jim opened his mouth to argue otherwise – on both statements – but the sight before him closed up his throat.

Sitting primly in his chair and looking as attentive as if he were with the most interesting person in the galaxy, Spock bore a serene expression, that non-smile where his eyes were alight with an almost mischievous gleam and his lips were curled at the edges. To anyone else, he was probably as aloof as always, but Jim knew his Vulcan officer, his friend, too well to mistake it for anything else; Spock was indulging him.

As it sank in, Jim ducked away from the watchful gaze, alcohol-flushed cheeks heating up even more, "I'm telling you, freshly baked bread – ambrosia."

"Then when our mission is complete, you shall have to induct me into its appreciation, so that I may make my own judgment."

Jim tried to stop his smile from going dopey but it probably went there anyway. It didn't matter though as nothing could be worse than Spock's first impression of him – a face-down at a disciplinary hearing on opposing sides followed by an all-out hair-tugging fist-slugging fight? But they were friends anyway.

And after tonight, well… they would become something more.

"You have yourself a date, Mister Spock."

With a look that said he would be holding Jim to that promise, Spock signaled for their bill.

Leaving the restaurant through the back door with assistance – let's just say that being tipsy in heavier gravity was not good – he was in the middle of declaring that they needed to come again and to bring the gang next time when he suddenly stopped speaking, unable to believe his eyes. Hanging up high to the far left side was a moon, heavy and round, glowing brighter than even the biggest harvest moon back home.

"Okay, Spock, tell me if I'm wrong, but I am pretty sure Vulcan doesn't have a moon."

"You are correct, Jim, that is the sister planet, T'Kuht."

"The Watcher," he translated, frankly amazed that his synapses were still firing.

"Yes," Spock agreed, giving him an appreciative glance. "It is in an eccentric orbit which brings it close enough to see with the naked eye approximately once every fourteen point six Human years."

"It's beautiful."

A companionable silence fell as they wandered down the street.

"In fourteen years time," Spock murmured, close enough that their shoulders brushed, "It shall be even closer, an event which has not occurred since Earth's mid-twentieth century. At that time, the planet will fill half the sky if viewed from the Mount Seleya observatory, and for twenty one days, the night sky will appear as bright as dusk."

Tucking his hands into his pocket to control his urge to touch, Jim felt abruptly and uncomfortably sober. What his first officer was speaking of never came to pass – for them at least – as in another fourteen years, the planet was already gone. Though Spock's face remained serene, he had to be thinking the same thing; they were walking on a planet that didn't exist, enjoying an astral event that didn't happen anymore. Pensive, Jim examined the artfully patterned lighting that spilled across the paving stones under their feet, unsure what to say. The patterns were lovely and fittingly pragmatic, lighting up the streets yet not obtrusive enough to be distracting.

"It's a renowned tourist attraction," Spock continued, a faraway look on his face, "and will draw many visitors."

The Vulcan turned back to face him abruptly, as if shaking off his thoughts. "If you are amiable we may travel to Raal, there is a well-known lookout point at a science outpost in the middle of the Sas-a-shar desert."

Dinner, a walk and stargazing in the desert on an alien planet – Jim tried to school his face because seriously, was there a checklist somewhere that Spock was ticking off?

"You realize that's on another continent."

"There is a transporter station at the science outpost. I have already checked with the relevant authorities and was informed that all may freely access the public areas, including the viewing platform and auxiliary observatory."

He might as well have said something romantic for the way that Jim felt in response, because dammit, the man had obviously thought this through.

The reflective glow of T'Kuht appeared even brighter in the desert. Painfully aware that he was witnessing something that no one would ever seen again in their universe, Jim memorized every passing moment until they sank into his very bones. Spock shared in his reverence, their elbows brushing. Below them, the usually red and brown desert were shades of mauve and blue in T'Kuht's soft light. They were not alone, as other Starfleet personnel were also enjoying the view, their general chatter and coos of awe filling in the silence, but no one bothered them.

After some minutes had passed, Jim bumped their shoulders together, "Dinner was great, but just so you know, don't think I've forgotten the fact that you nerve-pinched me."

"I do not know to what you refer."

"I'm still including it in my log. HQ is gonna know about it. There may even be a meeting."

"I would never expect otherwise."

There was something in the delivery, in the body language, in the expression on Spock's face. Jim wanted to lean forward and catch those lips with his, to finish what they had started on the ship, to run his hand over the curve of that angular cheek, cup that sharp jaw, and curl his fingers in the short hairs at the nape of Spock's neck.

Feeling as though he were stepping past some invisible barrier, Jim touched the elbow closest to him and slipped his hand into Spock's. There was a moment of hesitation but then Spock's fingers closed around his, strong and certain. Something inside him gave a sharp painful tug. Unlike the scenarios Jim had imagined, no one turned to look at them. In fact no one took any notice at all.

Spock glanced down to where their hands were clasped, hidden by the closeness of their bodies. "Please be sure to include your report that I stand by my decision; under the circumstances, it was the only logical solution."

Jim almost laughed. "Well, then you'll like this part."

Grabbing Spock by the back of the neck, he kissed him. At first the angle was all wrong and there was no response, but then Spock was pulling on the hand he still held and his other hand was clutching at Jim's hipbone, lips soft and yielding as the kiss deepened till they were sharing breath, entranced by one another. They broke apart at the sound of people approaching. Jim panted for air as he pulled away, a little shocked that it had escalated so quickly. Blushing, he turned his attention back at the night sky. Besides him, Spock did the same, a faint green tinting his cheeks.

For a long time they stood there, contemplating the vista above even as their skin pricked with the frisson of desire that simmered between them, unmoving except to point out a star here, a comet there. Sometimes, these movements lead to brushes between hand and elbow, or more dangerously, hand with hand; there was always a brief entanglement of their fingers during these encounters. Finally, Jim noticed that people were starting to leave.

"It's late," he murmured, not watching to break the spell over them but having to say it – because it was late, and despite how wonderful this entire evening had been he was tired. He could only imagine how tired Spock must be as he'd been awake for even longer.

"Very."

"You have a shift starting in five hours."

"I need significantly less rest than yourself."

As much as he wanted to stay here, he would never forgive himself if Spock was so tired for his shift that he might endanger himself or others. "Spock –"

"Jim," Spock countered, "Ten additional minutes shall not impinge upon the quality of my rest."

"Ten minutes," Jim agreed, because he didn't want to leave either in all honesty.

It only took another five minutes for the place to almost completely empty, and free from the inhibition of witnesses, they resumed what they had begun.


Planet-side: Vulcan, Shikahr City, Vulcan Academy Hospital, year 2246

Doctor Leonard McCoy was having a rotten day. Or night. After a standard shift on the ship, the last thing he felt like doing was trooping all the way to Shikahr to do his regular check up on the crew still being treated at the Vulcan Academy Hospital. It wasn't that he didn't like his work – he liked it fine – but the schedule that Spock and Scotty had cooked up between the two of them was edging on madness! Shore leave only ended two months ago and already he felt like a holiday.

He was no engineer but even he could tell that they were trying to slap the ship back together in a half the time that a regular refit would take with half the necessary crew needed. Now, he wanted out of here as much as anyone else, but the heavy workload meant long hours, people trying to take on more than they ought to, and random crew pitching in to help out when really, they were just not qualified.

Accidents were starting to happen, and not good ones.

He'd already aired his grievances, throwing down an ultimatum that Scotty and Spock were going to need to work on reducing hours, because the amount of injuries walking through his sickbay doors was unacceptable. There was simply no reason to work the crew like it was wartime when the fight was over. Thankfully, Jim agreed and had backed him up, because considering their situation, dragging back their flight date another few weeks hardly mattered.

No one said it aloud but you didn't have to be telepathic to know what everyone was thinking : despite all the effort to repair the ship, there were no guarantees that they would ever return to their timeline. Spock was on it with Chekov though, looking through their options with a team of scientists and two specialists on loan to them from the DTI.

Sighing heavily at the thought of the months ahead of them, McCoy slowed his pace as he rounded the corridor to the rooms housing the Enterprise crew. Most of the beds were empty, but a few familiar faces looked up and waved as he walked past. The doctor noted Sulu and Uhura holding court at a table with Hendorff's group of redshirts as he passed the spacious indoor garden courtyard set aside as in-patient leisure space. He didn't stop though, continuing on down the corridor and going upstairs to visit his youngest patient.

"Jimmy?"

The sole occupant of the room looked over from her careful examination of a potted plant on the window sill, the shimmering material of her robes gleaming in the filtered sunlight.

Caught off guard, McCoy came to an abrupt stop.

"Doctor McCoy," Amanda Grayson greeted, a warm smile upon her face. "I was told to expect you."

"Ma'am," he nodded, falling back on the good old fashioned manner instilled in him by Aunt Gladys.

They might have never met face-to-face but he'd been teleconferenced in when the Vulcan healers had discussed Spock's condition, and so they were hardly strangers. She was a regular in this room, judging by his perusal of the visitor logs – the only other visitors who attended regularly were Ambassador Sarek and Winona Kirk, and that was every other day. Amanda Grayson visited every day, sometimes more than once. She was one dedicated mother, as far as he was concerned, and a classy lady. It was the first time he'd bumped into her though, since her visits were daily appointments while his schedule was all over the darn place; seeing her in the flesh was a little strange really.

The woman who was meant to be Spock's mother was of average height and slender, her dark eyes instantly drawing comparisons with the First Officer that he so enjoyed ribbing. Without the fancy robes and complex hairdo, McCoy could imagine her taking coffee and cake at some random San Francisco street corner café.

Sensing his distraction, she quickly stepped away from the mess that was Jimmy's bed. "Oh please don't let me stop you from what you need to do; I promised to take the boys to lunch, you see."

At his raised eyebrows – because the boys were not cleared to leave the grounds of the hospital if he had anything to say about it – her smile widened as she added in a hurry, "We're doing a picnic in the hospital gardens. I've brought ham and pickle sandwiches for Jim, and Spock's favorite salad; root vegetables and dried gespar with skonvu dressing."

"That sounds wonderful," McCoy deadpanned, a lie if he ever heard one.

Her smile turned knowing and he cleared his throat, chagrined to be caught disparaging a woman's cooking. That was another thing one learned living with any McCoy – food prepared by a lady was to be eaten and appreciated, without any of your darn cheek thank you very much.

"I'm sure he'll love it."

Thankfully she was bemused rather than offended.

"The boys will be back soon. I arrived just as they were being taken away for some test," she said, answering his unspoken question. "I believe it was ordered by the nutritionist."

"I see, right, well, then please excuse me," McCoy gestured vaguely to the built-in monitors above Jimmy's bed and resisted the urge to straighten his plain black undershirt, having no doubt that his appearance was less than regulation.

"Of course."

Moving to the open displays, the doctor kept his eyes on his PADD as Jimmy's medical details were updated and changes were imputed in accordance. He couldn't quite manage not to notice the swish of Amanda Grayson's skirt hem against the cold granite of the hospital ward floors though, or the little noises she made as she returned to examining the various 'Get Well' foliage on Jimmy's windowsill. He wondered if he was supposed to speak, and was just about to make an attempt at chit chat when a shout at the door startled him into whipping around.

"Hey Doc!"

Leonard McCoy allowed a crooked grin before steeling his face to unimpressed, "What did I say about energy conservation?"

Jimmy's answering grin was irrepressibly gleeful. "What? I can't get excited to see you?"

McCoy snorted because if there was another thing universal to Jim Kirks, they were certainly charming little shits.

The young Vulcan glanced down at his hospital roommate and lifted one unimpressed eyebrow.

"Hey Spock."

The teen nodded a greeting at the doctor but lost interest instantly to drift over to his mother. McCoy didn't blame him. Amanda Grayson's smile practically beamed around the room as she cupped the young Vulcan's face in a soft intimate greeting. No one seemed to notice the silent sentinel of a Vulcan loitering around the doorway.

The Enterprise's Chief of Medical raised a mental eyebrow wondering what that was all about because he'd never seen the boys without their expressionless Vulcan guard, even when he'd dropped by in the dead of night. Sulu thought it was security organized by the ambassador so no one could make off with his son again while Chekov was convinced that Spock was somehow ancient Vulcan nobility. McCoy was pretty certain that M'Benga knew what it was for, but whatever the reason, he wasn't saying.

By the windows, mother and son's soft Vulcan greetings turned into a show-and-tell as the woman began opening the bags she had with her. Realizing that he was probably intruding on a picnic he wasn't invited to, McCoy asked Jimmy a couple of questions before warning him as usual to take it easy, the jokes and easy banter passing between them dispelling the last of the weariness from his long shift. As usual, the kid rolled his eyes, looking so much like Jim it gave his heart a lurch and a wobble.

"Relax, Doc. I'll be fine."

McCoy resisted the urge to retort that the kid hadn't been fine, that he was still in a wheelchair for crying out loud, but Jimmy wasn't paying attention anymore, his eyes sliding over to Spock like he couldn't help himself. Starting from the healed cut to Jimmy's brow, the doctor let his eyes drift over the teenager and swallowed at the thick clump of sentimental goo that rose up from his stomach. He felt stupid that he cared so damn much about the kid being happy that seeing him happy… well, it made McCoy want to dance on the rooftops. He felt strongly about young Spock's wellbeing as well but, it wasn't to the same degree. After all, he had grown ups who cared about him, but Jimmy…

You're a fool, he told himself, you're an old bleeding heart of a fool. But the doctor couldn't shake his memory of the anguish on Jimmy's face when he'd begged for his dad to be saved. To see him now so…so lit up from the inside, it settled a weight in McCoy that he didn't know he was carrying. He didn't know how much longer Jimmy would have this since at some point the kid would probably be shipped back to Earth, but he'd bet his finest bottle of Saurian brandy that the two would see each other again sooner rather than later; according to Chekov, young Spock had already picked out his preferred final year electives at the Academy.

"Doctor McCoy," Amanda Grayson's voice startled him out of his contemplation, "Doctor McCoy?"

He waved away her concern. "Long shift, sorry, you were saying?"

"Won't you join us?"

McCoy shook his head, "Thank you but I'm afraid I have to decline. I'm on another shift tonight."

"Oh of course, then don't let us keep you."

On his way out the door, he heard the kid expressing undying love to Spock's mother for bringing "awesome" food. It was an ordinary scene, amazingly normal; teenage boys everywhere probably acted exactly the same in response to the prospect of a good feed. McCoy hid his grin, but not very successfully. A Vulcan healer heading in the opposite direction on the stairs stared unabashedly at his uninhibited expression of joy in what was probably Vulcan-horror.

"Ma'am," he greeted, tipping an invisible hat in true Southern Cavalier style.

Doing another walk by of Hendorff's group, McCoy scowled as he caught sight of several familiar faces, who'd given him more than a fair share of strife back on the Enterprise, out of bed when they shouldn't be. Swiftly, he changed course, ready to put the fear of God into these troublemakers.

Engineers, he mentally snorted, no goddamn sense at all…


Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet Base – Solkar Campus, year 2246

"Commander Spock!"

Spock turned, startled to hear his name called in public as it was considered impolite on Vulcan. The First Officer of the Enterprise was even more startled to see it was Commodore Kirk, who was running towards him across the shuttle pad. Deciding that something urgent was likely responsible for her visit, Spock was about to inform Ensign Sepp to assume command of alpha shift and leave without him when she leaped onto the shuttle.

"Permission to come aboard, Commander," she panted, and brushed past him without waiting for an answer.

Doctor McCoy raised his eyebrows in surprise; they climbed further when the commodore took the seat directly across the aisle from the First Officer. In the main cabin, the crew continued to speak amongst themselves, unaware of their unexpected visitor. At a loss as to what to do, Spock took his usual seat and fastened his safety restraints as the hatch was closed. Overhead, the pilot announced imminent departure for the shipyard.

"Good morning, Commander, Doctor."

"Morning," Doctor McCoy replied cautiously.

The woman smiled briefly at Spock, an alien expression that sat strangely on her familiar features. Alien in that it was bereft of any warmth that even the smallest of smiles held when the captain made the same expression. He studied the contrast and wished that Humanity were not such an enigma.

It struck him that she referred to him by name and rank when he did not recall sharing these personal details, leading Spock to wonder whether she had arrived at the conclusion based on her observations or if her son had inadvertently revealed this to her. If it was the latter, then it would have to be impressed upon James Kirk the younger that the Temporal Prime Directive was to be taken seriously and no further breaches were acceptable.

"Commodore, may I inquire after the reason for your visit?"

"Just checking in on the refit," she replied easily. Too easily.

"We are proceeding on schedule."

"Good."

A long uncomfortable silence fell as the two officers regarded each other, one suspicious and the other vibrating with many unanswered questions, both equally unsure how to proceed. McCoy tried furiously to ignore them and wondered why on Earth he thought it would be better to sit back here with Spock than the mob of redshirts.

The Vulcan turned away first, bewildered by the level of heightened emotions emanating from the commodore upon accessing his telesper senses. Being experienced with similar tensions when Jim was troubled or deep in thought, Spock tightened his mental shielding and loaded the repair logs on his PADD, intent on utilizing his time productively until Commodore Kirk was ready to speak. It was not easy to ignore her projected emotions, due to their strength and proximity, but the level of detail within Mister Scott's logs soon held his full attention.

Seated an arm's length away, Winona Kirk stared blindly ahead, still unsettled by her morning. She had prepared herself for histrionics, anger, the silent treatment, even despair but Jimmy had merely nodded at her announcement, asked questions about her new commission, even requesting to visit her on the ship when he was better. She should be pleased that her son was growing up, but all she could think about was that he'd stopped needing her, and that he had someone else now.

"Actually, I've been reassigned. I thought to let you know in person."

Failing to see how this news required the commodore to inform him personally, Spock hid a frown. "I am certain that your replacement shall be adequate."

"Yes, well, Captain Pike is going to be taking over effective immediately. I wanted to come aboard today, see the progress of the refit in person before signing off my final report."

"I see."

She gestured for the datapad and Spock handed it over without comment. He observed her carefully; while the commodore displayed casual interest in the repair logs, flicking through them at a moderate pace, she remained undeniably tense and distracted. Subterfuge of this sort may have worked upon another, but he was quite familiar with avoidant behavior amongst Humans.

"Commodore Kirk," he ventured quietly; a quick glance ascertained that the main cabin continued to be unaware of their guest, "may I be frank?"

A row in front of them, Doctor McCoy's head jerked in surprise and started to turn before he hastily aborted the movement, instead ducking his head back down to face his PADD in a poor pretense of being preoccupied.

Winona Kirk glanced across the walkway separating them. With a gaze that could almost be described as fierce, a sullen expression and even sharper features than the teenage boy sharing his DNA, Commander Spock was utterly alien and seemed to lose even the hints of inherited Humanity that she'd managed to see in Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda, the boy whom Jimmy called his best friend.

"Commodore Kirk, as you're aware I am bound by the Temporal Prime Directive; in addition I have made a personal vow to not interfere in the events of the current timeline any further than I already have. However, as you have addressed me by name, I can only assume that you have arrived at the logical conclusion."

The logical conclusion, Winona thought wryly, what an understatement.

"Having said that, it was made clear that there was to be no extended personal contact between the crew of my ship and anyone of this timeline – which leads me to ask: why are you aboard this shuttle? Your very presence is a breach of the agreement you enacted."

Yes, she probably wasn't supposed to be here but that never stopped her. She felt a grudging admiration for the Vulcan's directness – and his sharp mind.

Winona Kirk had done her research and knew as much about Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda Grayson, as the Starfleet Diplomatic Corps did. Born upon Vulcan on the outskirts of Shikahr at a clan estate inherited by his father, his childhood was unremarkable except for having racked up some impressive interstellar millage due to the ambassador's diplomatic tours. He was academically gifted, proficient in Standard and several dialects of Vulcan, and held a high telesper rating. Of course being half-Human, there were articles which referred to him in passing, usually medical research papers and xenobiological case studies, but for the most part Spock was an ordinary citizen.

"Commander Spock, I've been offered a new commission – the USS Monchezke – and will be shipping out in three days time."

If she wasn't paying attention, she would have missed the slight widening of the Vulcan's eyes.

"You are not remaining on Vulcan."

Swallowing down the urge to crack a sarcastic comment on him stating the stupidly obvious, she averted her eyes. "No, I am not."

It wasn't for the lack of trying; she'd already delayed the launch by four months when she threw what for her was a full hissy fit and demanded a full systems calibration be done before she took over, giving her the needed extra time to spend with Jimmy and deal with his situation. The admiralty had probably known what she was doing but no one called her out. It couldn't be delayed anymore though.

"The USS Monchezke is an exemplary vessel. Congratulations, sir."

Though the statement was toneless, she felt a sensation not unlike self-hatred rip through her chest. It took all of her control to keep her voice even.

"Thank you. In answer to your question, Commander – since we're speaking frankly – I thought you should know that I've been contacted about formalizing a betrothal bond between Jimmy and Spock, Ambassador Sarek's son."

There was a quickly stifled choking noise from the doctor's seat. They both hardly noticed.

"I see."

Closing her eyes for several beats and wondering why she even thought this was a good idea, Winona Kirk whirled to face the object of her scrutiny. "Commander, I'm uncomfortable with the very idea of a 'betrothal bond.' I have tried to make something–"

There was a whistle from the overhead speakers but Winona ignored it.

"–romantic out of this whole thing, but your younger self is only fifteen. I don't want to belittle him because he is smarter than I am, but fifteen is still fifteen. And despite being half-Human you've chosen to honor the Vulcan way, Mister Spock – and he's basically you – which means that I can't even delude myself by thinking that there are somehow feelings involved. This leads me to two options; that this bond is for convenience or for politics. Ambassador Sarek has been–"

"Ambassador Sarek would not use a bond for the purposes which you are suggesting," the commander interrupted, his sharp tone surprising her. He sounded angry.

"Firstly, it would be illogical not to mention amoral to use such contrived means to gain political leverage, as considerable damage may be inflicted upon the minds of the bonded parties if they were promptly separated once the political purpose had been fulfilled; secondly, convenience is not a word any Vulcan would use to describe an agreement of this nature."

The dark eyes met hers, sending a zap of electricity down her spine.

"A betrothal bond is a solemn promise, Commodore, made in good faith. While it has been known to be dissolved when parties are in mutual agreement of their incompatibility, it is as important as the actual marriage, years from now. The initiator of the agreement will be required to give material and monetary support to maintain the intended, as for all intents and purposes she or he will join said clan and is the responsibility of that clan."

"Attention all passengers, please prepare for turbulence. We shall be docking shortly."

The commander broke off their stare, turning back to face the main cabin where other passengers were already preparing themselves in response to the overhead announcement. Winona Kirk held out the datapad without being asked; it had long since been forgotten in her lap. There was a slight jolt as the shuttle made touch-down.

Commander Spock stood to leave with the repair crew, switching gears with an ease that made her envious. "To assist in the completion of your last report as our liaison, Commodore, I shall be happy to introduce you to our chief engineer once I have been debriefed."

You, happy? Winona almost snorted.

"Of course; see you in a bit."

As the shuttle emptied, to her surprise, the Vulcan didn't follow the crew. Standing eerily still by the exit, he glanced over his shoulder at her. His expression shifted – it was almost as if he were apprehensive.

"Commodore…this is highly irregular and I understand that it is not my place, however, I wish to inquire after your plans for James Kirk."

The alternate future Leonard McCoy fixed her with a indignant glare as he rose to his feet, not even bothering to hide his eavesdropping.

"Ma'am, Jimmy's in no shape to go warping around the galaxy with you!"

"And he's not."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow as he stepped back from the shuttle door, plainly puzzled. "You are accepting the ambassador's offer?"

Ignoring the intense stares being leveled at her, Winona unbuckled her safety belt, passive-aggressively taking the time to do it properly.

"I'm currently considering the possibility of sending Jimmy to Tarsus IV – once he's good to travel, naturally. My aunt and uncle live there and have said previously they'd be happy to have long-term visitors. It's a nice place, mostly farms, good place to recuperate, lots of families."

With an abruptness that startled both of them, Doctor Leonard McCoy pushed past Spock with a rudeness that was unusual even for him and stormed away without saying a word.

He couldn't take it anymore! To not say something about Tarsus IV made him want to break something! Despite the fact that Jimmy Kirk wasn't Jim, his friend and one of the best men he knew, his heart went out to the kid. Missing for over six months, six damn months, presumed dead and given up on by everyone including his own mother – then as soon as he's rescued and it's confirmed that he'll live, the woman takes off again. If Jimmy ended up on Tarsus IV right after the trauma he'd just gone through…the doctor had a dozen things he wanted to say to Commodore Winona Kirk and none of them pretty.

Left alone with the commodore, Spock sought to control his warring emotions; despite his efforts though, when he spoke, it was not entirely calm.

"Commodore…I recommend that you reconsider the ambassador's offer."

Winona Kirk regarded him in surprise. The naked vulnerability displayed by the First Officer was a shock to her after having come to expect only haughty reserve. Though it should have comforted her to see this glimmer of Humanity, it just made her uncomfortable.

"Commander, ah there you are!" A man in his late thirties – clearly Scottish judging by his accent – waved at them cheerfully, leaning into the shuttle, "I see we've got a guest! Welcome aboard, Commodore. Are you getting off here or are you heading back to Vulcan with the gamma shift?"

"Commodore Kirk, may I present our chief engineer," the Vulcan introduced, his face wiped blank once more. "The commodore will be making her final report as our liaison, if you will apprise her of the current state of repairs, Commander."

"Oh of course," the man beamed, "Right this way, sir."

Following the ship's chief engineer, a troubled Winona Kirk exited the shuttle. Two days ago, she had been more or less certain that sending Jimmy to Tarsus IV would be for the best, but now…

Despite all her personal feelings of antagonism towards Commander Spock, for him to ask her to reconsider – breaking his own vow of non-interference and only short of violating the Temporal Prime Direction on technicality – why would he do that? Why would he risk it? Unless

In an alternate timeline, perhaps she'd never made a decision to sent Jimmy to Tarsus IV. Maybe Jimmy needed to experience something on Earth, or meet someone on Vulcan to ensure temporal continuance. According to Captain 'Jim,' her son had a role to play – or was that irrelevant now that history was different now? Perhaps the commander was lying, trying to manipulate her into accepting Ambassador Sarek's offer. But Vulcans didn't lie, she reminded herself, and went back to reviewing the facts again even as her tension headache increased exponentially. She was starting to understand why no DTI agent ever had a sense of humor.

What are you going to do, Winnie? She could hear George asking.

"Honestly," she murmured under her breath, "No idea."


Planet-side: Vulcan, Shikahr City, Roktor-gel Quarter, year 2246

Winona Kirk felt sweat prick at the nape of her neck as she walked briskly down the street. Subtle filters above her tempered the harshness of Vulcan's suns, but it was still hotter than she remembered from her cadet days. Turning left at the next intersection, she noticed an immediate change in the signage as she drew closer to Shikahr's Terran enclave. The restaurant was as discreet as she could have hoped for, set in an enclosed courtyard on a walk up laneway behind some flashier establishments. Her lunch appointment was already waiting for her, sun-veils folded at her side. Winona glanced at her personal tricorder before snapping it close – it seemed that they were both early.

"Lady Sarek?

The Human wife of the Vulcan Ambassador smiled warmly, "Commodore Kirk."

"Winona, actually – I'm not on duty."

"And my name isn't Sarek," the woman gestured for her to sit. "Please, call me Amanda – Amanda Grayson. Our sons are friends."

Was that what it was called on Vulcan? The commodore sat down, and allowed herself to be served a glass of water. She tried to pace herself but still gulped down the liquid in mouthfuls, drained by the walk from the nearest transporter station and still weary after a packed morning spent in final debriefings before she sent off the Douglas to pick up her new captain.

The invitation to have lunch had come from Lady T'Pau two days ago, and arrived just as she'd wrapped up her tour of the Enterprise, her excuse to ambush Commander Spock. Winona thought about declining – the timing was awfully suspicious – but in the end it just wasn't worth possibly offending the Vulcan matriarch over a free lunch. It was pretty obvious to her though that 'lunch' was simply an euphemism for negotiations.

She had to admit, she was curious about the ambassador's wife; anyone who could get a good reference from the very intimidating Lady T'Pau was worth a meeting and the brief glimpses in passing at the hospital didn't tell her much. But as Winona studied the holographic menu that flickered over the tabletop, she rather wished this were a real negotiation, one with armed guards and obvious hostility. This whole business of having lunch together, disguising the tensions by watering it down with social niceties – she hated the whole damn idea of it.

There was nothing but vegetables and then more vegetables, so Winona picked the Mediterranean salad, a cold Vulcan spice tea and then regretted it immediately when she looked up to meet the other woman's gaze. She'd just given up her best excuse to continue ignoring the Lady Sarek. Her uncertainty threatened to freeze her like a first-year cadet before she shook it off by sheer will.

Across the table, Amanda Grayson looked on with dark curious eyes, so eerily similar to her son, Spock. Winona glanced at her ears, looking for points; the woman's ears were completely round.

"You know, I think Spock has a little crush on you."

Winona almost choked on air.

"Besides his demands that I bring every single education holovid from home that he possesses so he can show it off to James, his favorite topic right now is Starfleet. He insists that he's impressed with the engineering, the opportunities for scientific research, the academic rigors, and vehemently denies it as being anything but professional admiration, yet I'm pretty sure he's got a touch of hero worship."

Winona Kirk caught the twinkle in the other woman's eyes and couldn't help warming to Amanda Grayson even as her stomach twisted.

"It's nice to hear him enthuse about something – all too often, I'll ask him a million questions and get nothing but one word answers."

She knew what the woman was doing. She did it herself – connecting with her opponent on common ground. Winona supposed she could go along with the attempt to get the conversation rolling in an easy neutral direction, wait for it to lead to where they both knew it would – whether or not she'd give Jimmy up to be raised by strangers – but frankly she just didn't care.

"That can't have pleased the ambassador. Aren't Vulcans against violence?"

"Theoretically," Amanda Grayson deflected the implied insinuation easily, "but don't let the empty expanses of desert and over-developed cities fool you. Vulcan is a violent planet, with an equally violent past. Their education continues to stress tradition, which often includes the study and practice of martial arts and weapons. I can tell you, Commodore, those bouts are no joking matter. There's usually blood."

She'd heard about that; after all, she'd done her final year survival training here and studied Vulcan self-defense at the Academy. An awkward silence ensued, broken by the arrival of a young woman with their drinks. Amanda Grayson smiled at their server and thanked her. She smiled a lot, a lot more than one would expect from someone who had chosen to marry a Vulcan. Which, really, who the hell would choose to marry a Vulcan?

"There's a saying – when all rational solutions refuse to fit the available facts, then we seek an irrational solution that does. It gets repeated quite a bit, in all different variations."

"I think you mean; when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,however improbable, must be the truth."

Amanda Grayson smile brightened if that was even possible, "Despite complaints about gross inaccuracies, they were Spock's favorite bedtime stories."

Winona tried to imagine a young Vulcan boy clamoring onto his bed and eagerly listening to bedtime stories about serial killers, violent criminals and one drug-addicted gentleman in late Victorian England. She could see why Jimmy would like the kid; he had taste.

"Spock believes in that saying, probably more than he should," Her host's smile waned, "After everything that's happened, he sees Vulcan education as 'inadequate preparation for the realities of the galaxy,' and he intends to remedy that immediately."

Winona swallowed thickly, a rush of hot emotion welling up at the thought of how much suffering had been endured to teach that harsh lesson. She reached for her glass of water, taking a long drink to try and ignore how much she could relate. For her as well, one could never be too prepared.

"If he wasn't under doctor's orders, I think he would be banging on your door to talk you into sponsoring him for the Starfleet Academy Entrance Exams."

She could imagine it. That determination was probably how he convinced Lady T'Pau to step in on his behalf and wear Winona down in a last ditch attempt to make her leave Jimmy on Vulcan.

"Starfleet would be lucky to have him," she said, and she meant it.

Despite how she felt about this weird situation, Starfleet wouldn't know what hit them if Spock took on the Academy. The boy was exceptionally bright and granted, Starfleet was full of bright kids, but the stubborn will to persevere against all odds, that was something else. She respected his inner strength, and if he were older, she might have been the one approaching him to enlist.

"Thank you," Amanda Grayson said with solemnity, "Thank you for bringing back my son. I know you're going to say that it's your duty, but let's be honest – what you do on a day to day basis, Winona, the risks that you take on, it's never just duty."

She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. It was difficult to continue seeing the woman as her opponent when she was proving herself to not only be intelligent but intuitive. If they had met under other circumstances, Winona had no difficulties imagining them as friends. There was a quiet assurance in Amanda Grayson she felt drawn to and reminded her strongly of Admiral Barnett.

"Your son kept my son alive."

"And vice versa," the woman paused, "Commodore– Winona, I know you must be concerned about what we're proposing. It is, I know, a very alien concept, and I had a hard time accepting it when Spock was pledged the first time around. But Vulcans are telepaths, and they have mental needs that can only be fulfilled by telepathic bonds."

Winona took a sip of water, trying to aim for calm composure. The bond wasn't something she really understood despite the many times it had been explained to her. It was like explaining the sky to the blind, she supposed. But she knew enough to understand its importance, the consequences of removing the spontaneous wild bond Jimmy had in his head. It had also been explained to her that a bond couldn't be used to coerce and Jimmy's bond with his new Vulcan friend could only thrive as it was due to mental compatibility and mutual affection. That last part, that was the important factor as far as she was concerned.

"I know, I've been briefed by Healer Sorel."

The woman smiled, but its brightness had dimmed. "It's a special thing among Vulcans, to find one who matches you so well."

Was it that way with you and the ambassador? Winona didn't ask.

As far as Jimmy was concerned, there was nothing strange about the bond. He barely felt its influence, and described it to her as a warm feeling, a sixth sense about Spock, his moods, if he was close or far away. Winona had half-expected Jimmy to demand he be allowed to stay with the ambassador's family on Vulcan, because surely Spock or the ambassador or someone would have told Jimmy about the request to formalize the bond. It's what she would have done – gone behind her back and asked the hormonally-addled teenage boy – but while Jimmy was steadfastly loyal to Spock, he never brought up the bond as an excuse to stay behind on Vulcan.

With suspiciously good timing, a waiter arrived with a new carafe of water and a large irregularly-shaped plate of what looked like bite-sized appetizers in the crook of his arm, resetting the mood at the table. Winona wondered if the man was telepathic.

"I hope you don't mind, but I ordered this to share." Amanda Grayson pushed the plate towards her, "It's very good, please try some."

Despite the fact that she wasn't really in the mood to eat, Winona forced herself to take a few.

"I know you must have questions."

Was there something in the Vulcan atmosphere that made everyone to speak in understatements?

"I've seen you in passing at the hospital but we've never really had an opportunity to talk."

She wondered if the woman was that naïve to not notice someone avoiding her, but then she caught the glint in Amanda Grayson's eyes. "It's hard for me just leaving Spock for a few weeks with relatives, people I know and trust, so I'm sure it's a tall ask for you to consider leaving Jimmy with us, for months and possibly years at a time. I usually send a video message twice a week during these trips and I would have no problems with organizing the same for James to keep in contact with you."

Actually, if Sam hadn't come home, Jimmy's disappearance would have probably gone unnoticed for weeks – regular calls weren't really her thing. Shit. Winona allowed herself to experience a moment of shame.

Anyone who didn't belong to the Fleet would have considered her decision to take such a faraway posting incomprehensible, even heartless; after all Jimmy needed a parent, someone to bug him to eat right and go to bed early, and coddle him when he sweated through painful sessions of physical therapy. She didn't expect Ambassador Sarek and his wife to understand her choice – people rarely did – but she had done her own tally and knew the score. With the third and seventh fleet decimated and several crucial outposts gone, Starfleet needed every experienced command officer they could get. Despite what Pike thought, her new commission was not a reward nor a bribe but a call to arms. She was going to the USS Monchezke to even the odds; after all, even a science vessel could put up a fight, if her captain knew how. This was for Jimmy, for Sam, even if no one else would see it that way.

Her host's gaze was gentle. "No one in my family has ever served in Starfleet, so I can't imagine the pressures that you and your crew go through as a matter of fact. That you managed to have a family at all, and raised a son as accomplished and good-natured as James – you have nothing to prove to anyone as far as I'm concerned."

"That's just luck," she dismissed, because it was true.

All of it – Jimmy's good looks, his smarts, his resilient bright personality and physical prowess – was sheer dumb luck, or as George would say, providence. There had been no guarantees that the good genes would be passed on second time around after Sam, but then there he was, a small wrinkled thing in the crook of her arm, with her father-in-law's startling crystalline eyes and her mother's dark blonde hair.

"I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit."

She ducked away from Amanda Grayson's searching look with a mirthless smile, because if the woman only knew...

"I've spent enough time with James to know that he has been raised to be articulate, knowledgeable, and compassionate. You should be proud of him."

Unease twisted in Winona's chest like a monster trying to crawl its way out. The woman was making it sound like she'd purposely set out to expand Jimmy's horizons when that wasn't the case at all. The more demanding of her two sons and the more curious, she'd given Jimmy every book and holovid he could want, enough to fill a library, and sent him on every excursion he was interested in, trying to distract him from noticing her absence. Whenever they talked, she'd filled their conversations with educational tidbits and random facts, often trying to get Jimmy to talk about his life on Earth, diverting their discussions away from her missions, her absence. For years, Jimmy believed that if he impressed her enough, she'd stay – and worst of all, she had let him believe it.

"I am," she said, finding it suddenly hard to breath as confusing emotions swelled in her chest.

She was proud, Winona realized, because her son was amazing, despite her failures. And Jimmy deserved to have people who gave a damn about him, who would notice if he went missing, who knew his favorite food.

Mouth dry, she looked up at the woman across the table from her, her doubts about Tarsus IV increasing exponentially.

Jimmy deserved to have Amanda Grayson make his favorite food, to have visitors everyday at his bedside, to be taken to exotic planets with the ambassador's family and attend one of the best schools in the Federation. She had spent sleepless nights back on the farm in Iowa, loathing herself – not because he was gone – but because she hadn't realized he was gone, and couldn't even say if he had gone off on his own because she didn't know who he was, barely remembered what he liked to eat much less what troubled him, what made him happy, what he aspired to become.

Amanda smiled, "Spock adores him."

Perhaps, but since it was an alien adoration that she had no frame of reference for, she didn't really care. She could only go with what she did understand, and the kid certainly knew more about her son than she did.

Chris was firmly of the opinion that Jimmy should return to Earth if Tarsus IV was no longer an option, and had even gone so far as to offer himself up as a foster parent. She'd declined, of course, because it didn't seem fair and Jimmy barely knew him. Since Jimmy had been pretty much running his own life for years, she'd considered making this his decision – but every time Winona tried asking him to make a choice, something inside of her rebelled.

Spock, the boy who had befriended him and saved his life, who could offer Jimmy a comfortable family life and the best educational opportunities this side of the Alpha Quadrant versus a grand-aunt and uncle he had never met before in a new colony off the beaten interstellar track? The choice seemed obvious, except she had needed to be sure of these people, that they would do right by Jimmy and weren't just doing taking her son in for the benefit of their own child.

Staring across the table at the other mother, Winona Kirk took a leap of faith.

"Actually, I wanted to meet you today because I've accepted a new commission and will leave day after tomorrow… I was going to arrange to send Jimmy to Tarsus IV after he was finished with mandatory therapy. I have an aunt and uncle there, and I've heard that the colony is doing well despite how young it is. But…I've spoken to a several people – and they seem to disagree." She breathed out, "I think they're right."

Amanda's expression never wavered as she refilled their water glasses, movements sedate and elegant, despite Winona watching her carefully for any signs of triumph. "Congratulations on the new commission. I'm sure Jimmy's proud."

She cleared her throat, "Yes."

Yes, he had been proud.

Was it terrible that she was slightly unsettled because he wasn't upset at her leaving? Being envious of a teenaged Vulcan boy who was sucking up all her son's attention and time made her feel silly.

Amanda smiled tentatively, "Then…?"

She smiled back, feeling like her old self as she wryly admitted, "Ah, I don't really know how to proceed but Admiral Perim is willing to lend me someone from her legal team to get Jimmy sorted for long-term residency on Vulcan."

Startled delight filled the woman's smile and the waiter appeared as though magically summoned, replacing dirtied plates and utensils before coming back with their mains. Feeling as though a literal weight had been overthrown, Winona dug into her salad and savored its tangy sweetness, letting it distract her from the heady sensation of being suddenly made lighter. Soon a new conversation began between the two women, starting with a discussion about the restaurant's food before shifting onto Jimmy's choices for school upon Vulcan, his medical needs, what a Starfleet career entailed for someone pursuing the Science track and Amanda Grayson's enduring love of roses.


Planet-side: Vulcan, Llangon Mountains, year 2247

Tri-ox compound made it easier to breathe but it sure as hell didn't make Vulcan a more hospitable place temperature-wise. One could hardly believe it was the crack of dawn.

"Already hotter than Terran hell," Leonard McCoy muttered under his breath as he took off the unflattering straw hat jammed on his head to fan himself.

They were a sorry sight to behold: him, M'Benga, a bunch of cranky redshirts with the highest ranked redshirt of them all, Scotty, decked out in Vulcan robes standing around awkwardly, sweating like pigs. The chief engineer looked like he didn't know if he ought to dance a jig or collapse in a dead faint at the sight of several famous faces in the crowd and M'Benga hovered at his shoulder, keeping a careful eye on him.

In one corner, Starfleet brass mingled uncomfortably in their full uniforms, and in another, notable persons from diplomats to scientists and even a few claims to royalty held themselves in haughty reserve. Occasionally a server would swing around with much needed liquids but judging by the red creeping into the face of a visiting admiral and his exec, the cool drinks weren't enough. He honestly didn't know who thought attending a ceremony on Vulcan in full uniform was a good idea, but boy, were these officers about to be roasted alive.

"Nice hat."

He turned and blinked in surprise. It was Captain Pike, his hair neatly groomed to stiffness in full dress-uniform. The man gave him a friendly smile, beads of sweat on his brow, and held out his hand. On instinct, McCoy came to attention. This Pike's hair was a lighter shade of brunette than he remembered, and strangely, a little curlier at the top. He hadn't noticed that when he'd been interrogated at the Academy; it felt like a lifetime ago, considering all that had happened since.

He shook the offered hand carefully, almost expecting something to come out and zap him for this interaction. "Captain Pike, good to see you, sir."

"Likewise," the older man cast curious looks at a few in their motley group, but refrained from greeting anyone else.

"So…Jim huh?"

McCoy almost groaned. The cat was out of the bag, but did they honestly have to discuss it?

"Yes, sir…"

"Oh don't call me, sir – it just makes this all stranger."

One of the redshirts was noticeably staring and McCoy scowled pointedly at her; the young woman flinched and quickly resumed her conversation with Hendorff.

"Have we…?" Pike gestured vaguely to the group.

McCoy frowned in confusion before realizing the man wanted to know if they'd served together. "Yes, sir- I mean, yes, we did, um, serve together – on the one mission."

"I see," Pike looked as though he wanted to ask but refrained at the last moment. Thank the Lord – because Leonard McCoy knew his own strengths and while he could look into a mirror and declare that he was a damn good doctor, he couldn't say the same about his poker face.

"Maybe we'll get the chance again someday."

"Here's to hoping."

Captain Pike shifted his gaze to the various conversational groups around the room, averting the oncoming awkwardness with experienced ease. "I see that some of the crew were invited. Is Captain…Jim here?"

"No."

"Hmm," Pike craned his head to look over the heads of the tall willowy Vulcans that seemed to be everywhere, "First officer?"

He scoffed a negative. Even if Spock had been invited, it would have been a bad idea on multiple accounts – it was one thing for him to be glossed over as an officer of Vulcan origins when among Starfleet, but here, with extended clan members and intimate friends of the family? From what he'd picked up conversing with Uhura and M'Benga, Vulcans exuded a mental presence of sorts. As a distinctively plain old ordinary Human with no telepathic bone to speak of, he didn't understand it but supposedly, these folks would have honed in on Spock's real identity in minutes.

"I suppose it would be strange for them to be present for this."

The doctor grimaced. It was strange for him to be present for this but when Jimmy asked, how could he turn the kid down? Clearly his mother was going to be a no-show, and while Scotty, his engineer buddies and M'Benga were also invited, someone had to chaperon that lot.

Pike took another sip of his drink. "I can't believe how much he looks like George. He's young for a captain."

McCoy had a feeling that this conversation was going to require alcohol. Still, he supposed there was minimal harm if they were going to talk about Jim and just Jim – the whole damn galaxy by now probably knew Jim was from the future and here to save his thirteen-year old self with the way he went around announcing it. "He was the best – so they gave him the job."

Pike squinted speculatively at the redshirts who shuffled nervously and huddled even closer together. "He must have pulled something amazing out of the hat to get a ship like that straight out of the Academy."

McCoy snorted, because the man didn't know the half of it – and hopefully never would, now that the Narada had been destroyed. "He's a regular magician."

"Obviously," the man tilted his head, calculating. "Even with all the right moves, the fastest I've ever known someone to climb the ranks and get a ship captaincy is eight years."

The doctor smiled uneasily at the reminder of the lost 2258 graduates. He took a gulp of his drink but it did nothing to quench the dryness of his mouth. Turning away, he tried to look like he was interested in a conversation that had sprung up between the Bolian ambassador and the Edosian princess with her back to him. He honestly didn't know why he had to be the one standing with Captain Pike and doing the whole uncomfortable yes-I-am-from-the-future song and dance again while everyone else was acting antisocial. It was a downright conspiracy.

"Ah, what am I saying," Pike chuckled, "His dad was Starfleet through and through, and his grand-aunt, and before that, his great-grandfather. I know how smart the kid is, I just sat through five sessions of him getting drilled by the most intimidating middle school teachers in the galaxy with the kind of aplomb you'd be hard-pressed to find even among that lot."

He eyed the Starfleet brass that Pike nodded at and found himself agreeing. Vulcan teachers were terrifying; he'd take an angry admiral over one of them any day.

"With all that, he's tailor-made Starfleet material."

Except for the long list of minor misdemeanors and the drinking and the bed hopping – not exactly inspiring beginnings for a Starfleet poster child. That was ancient history though, and now, not even going to happen since Jimmy was going to be living on Vulcan for the foreseeable future; it was hard to score on a planet where pre-marital sex was considered a waste of time.

"You served together long?"

"Three years," he admitted after a beat of deliberation. "It feels longer."

Pike smirked. "But you've been known him for longer than that."

The doctor sighed in long-suffering. "That obvious?"

The older man shrugged with a laugh, "You've got to have history if you're gonna berate your captain like that."

McCoy snorted at the reminder of their Academy escape. A beat of silence followed as the drinks came past their way again. Both took a fresh glass of iced tea and murmured their thanks.

"Not a mussed hair on any of them," Pike muttered under his breath between sips, eying the loosely organized throng of Vulcans to their right.

"Well, they're bred for this weather," He grumbled, suddenly getting a hankering for a blueberry snow cone; it was all the darn blue Vulcan robes, they seemed particularly popular today for some reason. "This is probably pleasant to them."

Pike eyed him and opened his mouth to speak, but instead started coughing, waving a hand at the air like he was trying to get rid of a bad smell. McCoy took a deep breath and gave a startled cough himself – there was a whiff of sulfur on the breeze coming in from the northwest. Captain Pike went a distinct shade of sickly as he tried surreptitiously to cover his nose. Taking the initiative, McCoy took out his emergency hypo-spray and administered a shot of anti-nausea meds followed by another quarter dose of tri-ox to give the man a boost, then fanned ineffectively at the air around them.

"Thanks," Pike croaked, before sighing in relief as the tri-ox kicked in.

"Just doing my job, sir. You were saying?"

"About the … this betrothal…" Pike said uncomfortably, "I understand that it's an antiquated Vulcan practice, no longer as common though still practiced, particularly among those with a high telespar rating; but it's usually between small children."

Leonard McCoy honestly didn't care about Vulcan practices and only knew the basics that pretty much everyone knew from grade school, though if someone wanted to discuss ailments and viruses suffered by Vulcans or originating from Vulcan, he'd be more than happy to share. However, he wouldn't be surprised if arranged marriages were all the rage – tenderness was a rare thing in a Vulcan. Well, at least any form of tenderness that he might be able to recognize.

"I heard something about that."

"From what Winona's tried to explain to me, the betrothal is as important as– as important as the–" McCoy watched bemused as the man almost choked on the word, "–marriage, years from now."

Nearby, the Edosian princess and Bolian ambassador had finally taken a break from their mutual appreciation society and were now both engaged in a conversation with Amanda Grayson. From the almost luminous smile on the woman's face, it was probably congratulations of some sort.

"So I've heard. But there are plenty of cases where they're dissolved too."

Pike looked skeptical but nodded, seemingly coming to terms with it a little better with that revelation.

"Your first officer is Vulcan, isn't he?"

He nodded. There was no getting around that; it was probably the second most badly kept secret among those in the know that Commander Spock was the older alternate timeline version of Ambassador Sarek's son. Goddammit Winona Kirk…

"Are they…?" Pike asked tentatively, letting the silence speak for itself.

"No," he replied firmly, and winced because sometimes he wondered himself.

It had taken time but Leonard McCoy accepted that for all their similarities, young Spock and Jimmy were not Commander Spock and Captain Jim Kirk 2.0 – it had taken a long embarrassing conversation about the Human birds and bees with young Spock and an equally long nauseatingly detailed conversation with Jimmy about the Vulcan birds and bees for him to realize that if he continued to think they were the same people, he was going to go crazy. So yes, while today's events had no bearing whatsoever upon the continued friendship between Jim and that hobgoblin, McCoy suspected that there was something more already brewing between them. He wasn't born yesterday, he knew that they'd been sneaking out together when they were both off-duty.

"I heard that the ambassador's son is headed for Starfleet. Should be interesting."

"He's going to blow the bell curve out of the water."

Pike grinned. "You say that like it's for sure."

Leonard McCoy felt sweat trickle down his back and shifted uncomfortably, afraid perhaps he'd revealed something without meaning to. "Have you spoken to the kid? All he needs is electricity and he'd be his own database."

The older man laughed but didn't look away. He recognized that stare Pike had going – Jim leveled that same creepy stare at him whenever he was trying to figure something out.

"You know, when Winona told me she'd decided to sign over guardianship to Ambassador Sarek and would go along with this, I thought she was making a bad decision. I'd offered to take Jimmy myself, and accept a post back in San Francisco," the captain paused, obviously mulling over his words. "You're close to the kid, I've seen you both, so I'm hoping you can give me your honest opinion here – is Jimmy really going to be okay?"

Staring back, McCoy felt heartened that even in an alternate universe, Captain Christopher Pike still seemed to give a damn and had chosen to fixate his paternal instincts on Jimmy Kirk. Then he wondered how he was going to explain that Winona Kirk throwing Jimmy away to be brought up on Vulcan was probably the best damn thing she could have done for him considering.

Despite the restraints of the Starfleet oath and by extension, the Temporal Prime Directive, as far as he was concerned a far older oath overrode both of those: I swear by Apollo the Physician, and Aesculapius,and Hygeia and Panacaea His daughters, and by all the other Gods and Goddesses, and the One above Them Whose Name we do not know... Anything was better than Tarsus IV. Anything. Even if Jimmy spent all his life upon this forsaken rock; and if he had to tell Pike the truth about Tarsus IV so he'd leave it alone, then so be it.

Just as he was about to respond though, sweet sounding chimes rang through the air.

The Starfleet officers reacted first and collectively came to attention, their voices falling as conversations broke off mid-sentence. The assembled Vulcans also turned from their discussions, elegant in their statuesque stillness as they observed the proceedings.

Leonard McCoy watched the procession of Vulcans dressed in ceremonial garments approaching, their steps measured by soft reverberating booms from a gong-like instrument. He raised an eyebrow at the ceremonial machetes and bludgeons being bandied about by some of the Vulcans taking part in the ceremony, and was getting alarmed that something else was going on when a familiar figure stepped out from the heavy stone doors: Ambassador Sarek in dark robes, the very image of dignity personified. He was followed young Spock, his face composed but his eyes shyly affixed to the ground. McCoy allowed himself a half-smile at the teen's nerves and almost chuckled at how positively green Jimmy looked compared to the sandy shade of his robes as he trailed behind. Ah, going native already, he thought with some fondness.

A matronly Vulcan elder in stark black robes stepped out onto the terrace and there was an abrupt change in the atmosphere – if it was possible, all the Vulcans stood even more still. She gazed upon the gathering and zoned in on their motley crew almost immediately, her eyes dissecting the non-Vulcan faces, before she made a gesture to young Spock and he went to her, sinking down on his knees. She touched his face and then gestured for Jimmy. Pale with unease, the teenager went to her and mirrored the young Vulcan. Her other hand came to rest against his temple, and suddenly Jimmy's face became relaxed and peaceful.

Curious, McCoy shifted closer, craning his neck to get a better view. He watched as the two teenagers turned to each other and raised their hands to caress – no it wasn't really a caress – each other's face, with the Vulcan matriarch readjusting their fingers and fitting her hands over theirs. Vulcan mindmeld, he realized, of some sort – as a doctor he'd read about it before, though not much as Vulcans were notoriously insular, and he'd been told to expect this today but still, to see it...

"My mind to your mind…" Spock began, his soft voice vibrating like a song among the pillars.

"My thoughts to your thoughts…" Jimmy replied, his voice trembling.

"Parted from me and never parted…"

"Never and always touching…" Jimmy's voice wavered, "And touched."

At those words, the Vulcan matriarch let go and placed her hands gently atop their heads; "Now you are one," She decreed in a clear firm voice, her accent strange and beautiful, "At the appointed time, you will be drawn together."

And then – Leonard McCoy exhaled, having not even noticed holding his breath – it was over.

Jimmy jerked his hand back as if he'd been singed and gave Spock an awestruck look of bewilderment. The young Vulcan lowered his hand calmly and gazed back at his friend (McCoy would quite happily admit he'd rather vomit than consider using 'betrothed'). They studied each other for a long moment like they were seeing something no one else could, and beside him Pike exhaled with a shudder, unable to not be affected by the almost physical aura of contentment that flowed from the Vulcan contingent. Slowly, young Spock gave Jimmy a tiny smile, sweet and secret. McCoy's eyes watered. It's the damn sunlight, he told himself. And knew he was lying.

With great dignity Ambassador Sarek stepped forward, his figure looming over them and shaking them out of their reverie. Young Spock rushed to his feet, a slightly embarrassed air to the nod he gave to his father.

The doctor watched as the Vulcan guests congratulated Sarek and Amanda, with Starfleet officers following the custom, lining up neatly by rank and Pike left to join them. Jimmy approached with a disbelieving grin on his face, almost jumping foot to foot in his haste to barrage through several guests. McCoy raised a single derisive eyebrow but couldn't stop the twitch in his lips.

"You're here!"

McCoy managed a indignant sputter, though it was lacking its usual acidity. "You invited me!"

Laughing loudly enough to draw looks, Jimmy closed the last steps between them and fell into him for a one-sided hug. Sighing in long-suffering, the doctor rolled his eyes and allowed it, wrapping his own arms around the kid's skinny shoulders. They swayed together comfortably as Jimmy began to rock side to side. Feeling that his part was done, he pushed the kid away.

"Alright, enough of that, go on, scram."

Jimmy snickered but didn't complain, disappearing back into the milling throng of well-wishers till he was back by Spock's side. The young Vulcan glanced at him briefly, with a look that McCoy swore was satisfaction, before returning his attention to the next person in line to congratulate him, a Vulcan elder so ancient that one could swear he had hairs coming out of his ears.

"Well," Scotty crooned as he slunk over from where he'd been hiding, "Wasn't that something? I feel all inspired."

Hardly, he snorted, and judging by the misery on everyone's sweaty faces, the chief engineer was alone in his inspiration. Somewhere in the back of the group, the words 'air conditioning' and 'buffet' were mentioned and the Scotsman turned tail, eager to try some local delicacies. A beat later, the off-world visitors also scattered at the prospect of being indoors.

"Having fun, sir?" Chapel dimpled sweetly at him, looking put-together despite the fact she'd been in the heat as long as anyone else.

"If you mean being cooked alive fun, sure," he drawled, wiping at his brow with the edge of his robe sleeve and knocking his hat askew. Doing something like that would have had his ass whooped back home, McCoy thought cheerfully, did two more times just because. He adjusted his hat. "Let's blow this popsicle stand before I make a fool of myself."

Offering his arm gallantly to her, doctor and nurse joined the throng of departing guests, all wondering at what would pass for refreshments at an event like this and some, such a particularly hungry Scotsman from Glasgow, Scotland, Earth, were eager to try the buffet breakfast spread being put out.

In the distance, a silver glimmer stretched across the horizon like a wildfire, and within minutes a second sun dawned, joining his sister in lashing the planet with their rays. Their ascent went uncommented upon. Deep within the ancient cavern halls of a grand plateau, one clan that could recount a genealogy which spanned all of Vulcan's recorded history rejoiced in the return of one whom had been lost to them and celebrated the joining of another.


NEXT: Technically the story can end here. THE END - ah I pretty much cried when I got to that sentence and then realized, oh I need to sort out the AOS people. Yeah so there's an epilogue because we can't have two Enterprises in one universe, the awesome would be too much to handle.

(And for anyone who's equally as detail oriented as me and therefor wondering what happened to the one surviving Romulan crewmember that Spock mindmelded with on Dessica II and kidnapped to the Enterprise, well, let's say he's living out a sentence somewhere on Vulcan or with the DTI)