Surprisingly, Jim managed to get eight whole hours of sleep again. He had sat down with Spock and meditated beforehand—he wasn't sure if it was the meditation or just sitting in Spock's presence that calmed his mind so thoroughly—and had a blissfully dreamless sleep. But now he was awake, and his brain was running at Warp 6.

He blinked hard, forcing back the memories that were flashing inside his mind like an old horror movie on fast forward. If he gave into it all now before he'd even had breakfast there was no way he'd make it through the Trial.

Instead, he slid out of bed. He shivered when his bare feet hit the cold floor, but the sensation grounded him so he didn't bother to pull on his boots as he made his way to the kitchen. He doubted he'd be able to eat much, but Spock had said that the tea the Ewlean had was good, and he could at least hold the warm cup in his hands if nothing else.

He had just set the kettle—or at least something similar to a kettle—boiling when he heard footsteps. Turning, he saw Bones rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, still dressed in his pajamas like Jim was. "Morning, Bones." He didn't try to inject any false happiness or excitement into his voice, but he did smile at his friend. "Want a cup of tea?"

Bones looked almost offended at the suggestion. "It's bad enough that the Ewlean apparently don't believe in coffee, now you want to poison me with hot leaf juice? No thanks. I'll stick to water."

Jim chuckled and leaned against the counter. "You're up early. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

The man shook his head and walked over to the pantry where he rummaged around for a minute before emerging with some kind of pre wrapped breakfast bar. "Nah. Didn't sleep well last night and I figured I might as well be productive."

Jim hummed. It was obvious Bones wasn't going to elaborate on what had kept him up, but he didn't really have to guess. For all his gruff mannerisms, the country doctor was incredibly empathetic and it wasn't uncommon for him to be restless the night before an away mission or conference or other important event, regardless of whether he was personally involved. The kettle began to whistle, and Jim turned his attention back to it, pouring the hot water into his cup and breathing deeply.

They stood together quietly for several minutes, Jim slowly sipping his tea and Bones chewing his breakfast bar. When Bones had finished, he disposed of the wrapper and then turned to Jim, the last traces of sleep now gone from his face. Jim sighed internally and steeled himself for the conversation he knew was about to come.

"There's no need to tense up like that, Jim, I'm not gonna say you shouldn't go. I just wanted to know whether you think Chapel or I should beam back aboard with you this afternoon. Spock's not going to need both of us."

It took Jim's brain nearly half a minute to process that Bones wasn't trying to talk him out of the Trials. "Let Chapel beam up. M'Benga can take care of anything that's wrong with me, and I'm sure she'd like to see Uhura," he said finally. "Plus, if something goes wrong tomorrow, you know more about Spock's physiology than she does."

Bones nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll let Sickbay know to expect the two of you later today."

He turned as if to leave the kitchen. "You really aren't going to say anything else?" Jim wished he hadn't spoken as soon as the words left his mouth—gift horse and all that—but when Bones turned back around, his gaze was even—not pitying or angry or worried.

"Jim, I know I don't always act like it, but you're my captain, and I trust you. Spock was right when he said you were the logical choice for the leadership trial, and you've said you'll be able to handle it. I think that might be an exaggeration, but you'll do what you always do and soldier on regardless, and at the end of the day you'll be fine. Or at least fixable." His eyes narrowed. "If you aren't I swear I will kill you myself."

The words were oddly comforting. "Thank you," he said, hoping Bones could hear the depth of his gratitude in his voice. He hated being treated like he was two seconds away from shattering like some kind of teacup, and Bones knew it.

Bones snorted. "You can thank me by actually eating something. Despite what Spock might say, you can't live on leaf juice alone."

Jim nodded. He didn't really feel like eating, but the Ewlean seemed to last on two meals a day—there hadn't been any lunch breaks at any of the previous trials—and considering he still didn't know what he'd be facing, it was smart to get something in his stomach.

He felt Bones' eyes on him as he made his way over to the pantry and searched for whatever it was his friend had been eating. When he turned back around, breakfast bar in hand, Bones rolled his eyes and left the room with one final admonition to eat.

Peeling back the wrapper, Jim took a small bite and chewed slowly, his mind drifting.

. . .

When Spock woke, the first thing he did was look over at Jim's bed to ascertain his captain's status. It was empty. He pushed onto his forearms, worry thrumming through his veins but relaxed again when his ears picked up the sound of footsteps moving down the hallway and to the kitchen. For a moment, he thought about following, but he held himself back. He did not want to appear unsettled and thus trigger the same emotions in Jim.

Instead, Spock rose from his bed and crossed to the bathroom, quickly going about his morning ablutions. As he did so, he slipped into a kind of moving meditation to shore up his mental shields; it was doubtful that he would have the time for a proper meditative session before the Trial began today.

Settling the roiling emotions of his mind was more difficult than it should have been, but he allowed himself some measure of grace, a trait he attributed to the time he had spent in Jim's company. By the time his mind had cleared an acceptable amount, he had washed and dressed for the day, the feeling of his uniform against his skin a tangible reminder of his duty and the reason for their presence on this planet.

He was looking over the reports regarding the Trial of Leadership on his PADD when Jim walked in. The man was still dressed in his sweatpants and t-shirt, and there was tension in his back and shoulders as he moved, but he appeared well-rested regardless, which Spock was grateful for. "Captain," he greeted, nodding to the man.

"Morning, Spock," was the reply, in a voice more subdued than was typical of the man. Spock was grateful for it, however, as it meant Jim was not trying to cover whatever negative emotions he was currently experiencing with false happiness as he so often did.

Spock watched as Jim gathered his clothing and stepped to the bathroom, then he turned his attention back to the report in front of him. It held few details that would be useful, and he had reviewed it four times in the past forty-eight hours, but he could not stop himself from scanning the words again, searching for some clue that would allow him to aid his ashayam.

He became so absorbed that he did not notice Jim exit the bathroom until the man was standing beside his bed and peering at the PADD. Spock felt something in the air change between them, and he looked up to meet Jim's eyes. "Jim—"

"I'm going to be fine, Spock," he said, quietly cutting off what was certain to have been a feeble explanation. "I appreciate the concern though."

A thousand thoughts ran through Spock's mind, but he said none of them and instead bowed his head, turning off the PADD and putting it aside. "Do you wish to gather Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel?" he asked after a long moment, his eyes never leaving Jim's. "We are due to depart in forty-seven minutes."

Jim blinked, and the connection between them broke. "Yes. We should go over what we know about the Trial one more time, and I want to make sure we have tomorrow's plan in place as well." A smile suddenly appeared on his face. "Although I'm sure I don't need to worry. I might charge headlong into danger, but you're the one who manages to make things right in the end, Mister Spock."

Before Spock could make a reply—Jim was once again underestimating his abilities as a negotiator and mediator—the man turned away and left the room. Spock stared after him, mind churning.

. . .

Jim resisted the urge to shift on his feet. As had happened the last two days, they had arrived at the arena and been taken to a small room underground to wait for the Trial Master. Being underground at all was unnerving for him, but with the anxious anticipation that thrummed through his veins now it was nearly unbearable. Still, he tried to limit his fidgeting. Bones and Spock had been shooting glances at him the entire way here—he didn't want to add to their worry if he could help it.

After what seemed like hours but couldn't have been more than five minutes, the door opened and one of the Trial Masters stepped through. "Greetings, Representatives. I am the Trial Master overseeing today's Trial," he said, bowing in the Ewlean fashion, a gesture the crew returned. "The Trial of Leadership is the most intensive of the Trials and will involve a combination of Ewlean history and events and events from the mind of the chosen Representative. In order to succeed in the Trial, the Representative must show understanding of the meaning of leadership in a myriad of situations."

Jim could feel Spock and Bones one either side of them, both standing a little closer than they normally did. Even Chapel was nearby, arms crossed in front of her as she regarded the Trial Master. He appreciated the support more than he could say.

"The drug used in the trials reacts differently to every person, but it has been common in the past for Representatives to face a hallucination similar in some way to a moment in their life when their leadership skills were sorely tested." The man paused, his gaze passing over first Spock and then Jim where it lingered as he continued, saying, "This is often a turning point in the Representative's life, although not always. You have one standard hour to choose your Representative."

The Ewlean bowed once more and left, robes swirling behind him as the door closed.

Jim clapped his hands together and forced a smile onto his face. He hadn't needed the false cheer earlier, but his chest was heavy with a million emotions—none of them good. "Alright, anything you need from me Bones, or should I go ahead and call?"

Bones' face pulled down into a frown, and Jim grimaced inwardly. Maybe he had overdone it with the clapping. "Jim, slow down for a moment. I don't like that bit about this being the most intense trial. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, leadership can be tested in more ways than the others can," Jim answered, trying to keep the energy in his voice. "It makes sense." In truth, he was just as worried as Bones was. Would the hallucinations be more vivid for him? What would he see? He thought he already knew the answer to that last one, but he pushed the memory away. If he was going to have to relive that hellscape there was no point in rehashing it now too.

"Captain."

Jim turned to the sound of Spock's voice and was met with a carefully blank expression. Over the years he had spent serving with the Vulcan, he had become an expert at reading the minute details of Spock's face to get a hint at what he was thinking, but now it was perfectly empty of any signs. His chest tightened. Spock only got like this when he was worried. The last time he had seen it, he had been bleeding out.

"I request permission to take your place in this trial," he said, hands behind his back in a perfect parade rest.

Jim blinked. "Request denied, Commander." He felt a sort of betrayed anger starting to build in his stomach. He knew he was messed up in the head some, but did his friends really trust him so little? Just a few hours ago Bones had been saying that he trusted him to come out of this intact, but now he didn't? Nothing had changed, not really. So the Trial was going to be intense. He had figured that would be the case anyway.

"Captain, of the two of us, my past contains fewer traumatic experiences regarding leadership."

"Neither of our childhoods were all sunshine and roses. I survived it once, I'll do it again," Jim replied, his voice curt. "Now, if there's nothing else, I'd like to get this over with." He stepped toward the intercom on the wall but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. He spun around, a rebuke on his lips, but Spock cut him off.

"Your hallucinations, whatever they may be, will be on display for all present to see. I—"

Jim pulled away from Spock's grip. The anger had finally pushed its way past the other emotions to cause his voice to shake. "You worried I'll make a fool of myself?" he asked, hands clenched into fists at his side.

"No, ashayam, I simply desire to—"

"That's enough, Commander Spock," he snapped, and Spock pulled away completely, something rigid falling over his already blank face. Jim held his gaze for a few moments longer, seething, before turning away.

He took a deep breath and pushed back his anger—he was doing such a great job at this leadership thing—before striding over to the intercom and punching the button. "The decision has been made. I will be the Federation Representative for the Trial of Leadership."

"Very well. You and the medical officers may exit the room now, Captain. Commander Spock will be retrieved in five minutes."

The door in the wall slid open, and Jim allowed himself a breath before striding through without looking back. He could feel Spock's eyes on him until the door closed again.

. . .

Spock was spiraling. He was sitting in the viewing box—alone, the chair next to him glaringly empty—hands clenching the armrests of his chair so tightly it was almost painful. He had, on the journey to the box, attempted to calm his mind to no avail. It was flashing with images of his ashayam suffering, interspaced with the anger he had seen in Jim's gaze.

Not long ago he had told himself that he would not stop Jim from doing as he wished, regardless of their relationship status, and it had been a lie. Even as nothing more than his First Officer, Spock could not resist the urge to shelter Jim and keep him safe. It was illogical. It was insubordinate. And now Jim was entering his trial with anger and resentment in his mind instead of the confidence that would have come had Spock simply supported him as was his duty.

His thoughts continued on the same track—Jim was alone, and he had done nothing to help him—until the changing of the screen in front of him pulled him sharply from them. "The Trial of Leadership will begin shortly," the Trial Master declared, voice solemn. Then, the screen changed again, revealing the arena below.

He had not noticed the changes to the arena when he had first entered the room, but now they compounded the fear in his chest. The space was entirely empty. In the previous two trials, there had been some form of terrain change or additional props provided. Now, there was nothing but the gravel floor of the arena, which meant that all of the details would come from Jim's hallucinations.

He took several deep breaths, regulating the fear that clawed at his insides. Jim was more than capable of succeeding in this Trial. He would prevail as he always did and return to the Enterprise where he would receive any medical care he required and would be safe. Jim would be safe.

The fear remained.

. . .

Jim stepped out into the arena, squinting against the bright light. Suddenly, he was grateful for the loose robe he had been given to change into. If he had stayed in his dress uniform, he would be in more danger of passing out from heat exhaustion than whatever else the trial would be throwing at him.

The arena was empty, just a gravel floor and the crowd above, but he didn't let it phase him. Instead, he strode to the middle and waited for the drug to take effect.

The injection had been simple—the Ewlean used a delivery system similar to hyposprays, and Jim had pretty much built up an immunity to those by now—and had taken place just before he had stepped outside, so he figured it would be a few moments before it properly circulated, although with how fast his heart was beating right now the process was sure to be quicker.

What would he see? Would he be able to remember that it was a hallucination? He should have asked Sulu or Uhura what it was like. As soon as the thought made itself known, the scenery around him suddenly changed.

He was standing on sandy ground—but he could feel the gravel underneath and wasn't that confusing—surrounded by Ewlean who seemed to be wearing some kind of armor. At the far end of the arena, another group about half the size of his own was huddled, weapons held defensively. Their armor was emblazoned with what looked like a sun on the front, whereas his group had some kind of flag on their arms.

Alright. Leadership. That was the goal, right?

He turned to the Ewlean nearest to him, brain scrambling to recall what he had read about Ewlean military tactics and ranks. The weapons were primitive though, and the positioning of the two groups didn't make sense for this to be an actual even from Ewlean history. A wargame then?

"Report on the enemy position," he said, adopting his I-am-the-captain-of-the-USS-Enterprise voice. The Ewlean responded, and just like that, Jim fell into his role.

Three hallucinations passed in a blur of movement and shouting orders and planning, and adrenaline began to pump through his system. Fear and anxiety still nestled in the back of his brain, but as he rolled out of the way of some kind of phaser-fire—he wasn't sure if he needed to, but he figured it wasn't good for a leader to just stand there and get shot—they were overshadowed by anticipation and excitement.

He jumped to his feet and waved his arms at the Ewlean to distract him as three of his own soldiers came at the man from the sides and cut him off. He stepped up to the now-prisoner, intending to ask some standard tactical questions when one of his men pulled out a knife and held it to the prisoner's throat.

"He was part of the group of cowards that ambushed our camp at Thri-ess!" he snarled, eyes wild. "He deserves to die, here and now!"

Jim took a slow step forward. None of the hallucinations had dealt with insubordination so far, but it was only a matter of time, he supposed. "You and I both know that isn't the way things are done," he said, keeping his voice level as he scanned his memory of the Ewlean justice system. From what he could remember, it was similar to the Federation's—they wouldn't have been allowed to join if they didn't uphold the same values after all—and that included trials with legal representation, even for military crimes.

"This man has the right to a trial with representation before any kind of justice is dealt, soldier. Now put that knife away so that we can see this done right."

The soldier's grip on the prisoner tightened for a moment before relaxing, and Jim quickly stepped forward and took the knife—or tried to at least. His hand passed through the hallucination. Jim sighed and was about to order the man to drop the knife when the group in front of him and the scenery all vanished.

. . .

Spock froze. He had slowly begun to relax over the past two hours and thirty-one minutes, but the tension came rushing back as the latest of Jim's hallucinations took hold. He recognized the barren field where his ashayam now stood. Tarsus.

A small fire flickered in front of Jim, who knelt beside it, drawing level with the four other scrawny forms huddled around it.

Jim had not told him much about his experience on Tarsus beyond the fact that he had escaped the mass genocide through a combination of luck and skill and spent several weeks in hiding with a small band of children who had also escaped. Was that what he was seeing now?

As he watched, Jim leaned forward and seemed to speak to the children. For the majority of the Trial, the microphones hidden throughout the arena had been able to capture the majority of Jim's words, but now the man murmured too quietly for Spock to hear.

Anxiety and dread twisted in his side, and his fingernails pressed bloody crescents into his palms.

. . .

"Split my food between you," Jim ordered, pushing back the fear that reared in his mind. He wasn't the same scrawny kid who had been on Tarsus now. He was stronger. "And put the fire out."

One of the kids turned to him, and his heart shattered. The flickering light of the flames illuminated a young face, eyes sunken and cheeks too hollow to be healthy. Sylvia hadn't made it off Tarsus.

"Alright, Jim, but only if you're sure. I don't wanna take your food."

"Nah," he choked out, "it's fine, I promise." Sylvia regarded him for a moment longer, hunger and worry warring in her eyes before reaching out and grabbing the bowl that sat in front of him. The other three quickly split the food while one of them—Riley—stomped the fire out.

For a few minutes, they just sat there in silence, dread building in Jim's chest. What was he supposed to do? This wasn't a memory of his—they had never camped in the middle of a field like this—so he had no idea what would happen next. How was this testing his leadership? Was he supposed to tell them to move to a more hidden position? The field took up most of the arena, but there were some trees at the far end opposite them...

"I think we should move into the forest," he said, standing. The children looked up at him, blind trust obvious in their open faces. Stars, he had hated that look. He hadn't known anything more than they had when all of this had happened. He hadn't been a leader.

"Okay. Can we finish eating first?" Riley asked. Jim was about to say yes, when he heard the sound of someone walking toward them across the dry ground.

He spun around and saw a group of three men advancing across the field. His hallucination must have just dreamed them up, because they were only two dozen meters away—close enough that he should have heard them sooner.

"Riley, take the others and head for the woods," he said, not looking back at the children. "I want you to all find somewhere to hide. I'll come get you in a little bit."

The children didn't question him. He heard their bare feet slapping against the ground as the dashed toward the treeline, but still he didn't turn. His gaze stayed on the men who were approaching, large and burly, the armbands they wore marking them as part of Kodos's detainment force. Except no one ever made it to detainment.

"Out of the way," the lead one growled, "Those kids are violating Kodos's order."

Jim stayed put. He still didn't know what leadership aspect this was supposed to be testing, but there was no way in hell he was letting these men past him. Could he even fight them? His hands went right through all the other hallucinations, but stars above he would try. If he could just keep them distracted until the hallucination ended…

. . .

Spock watched as Jim jumped out of the way of one of a charging attack from one of the men. The children were still running for the trees at the far end of the arena, but they were moving sluggishly, as if they had barely any energy left in their emaciated bodies. The dread he had felt earlier had turned to fear, pounding through his veins like an incessant drumbeat, filling his mind and drowning out nearly all other thoughts.

He tried to focus on the fact that this was a hallucination, that it was not meant to endanger Jim in any way, but that fact seemed miniscule compared to the fear in the children's faces and the rage in every step the men took toward Jim.

Jim dodged another attack and circled around the men, careful to keep himself between them and the children at all times. His face was a hard mask of determination, and Spock wished he were in Jim's place.

. . .

Jim's limbs were beginning to tire. In truth, he should have been exhausted ages ago—he had been going from hallucination to hallucination for what felt like hours—but the thought was of no comfort now. He rolled out of the way of another strike, hissing as he scraped his arm on the gravel. The pain gave him another burst of adrenaline, however, allowing him to jump back to his feet and away from the third man's charging tackle.

He couldn't go on like this forever, not when he couldn't do anything to stop his attackers. The hallucinations—he had to remind himself that was what they were, that he wasn't back on Tarsus—seemed to have an unlimited pool of stamina. He was fighting a losing battle.

But he would fight it anyway.

He was a little slower getting to his feet the next time he rolled, and one of the hallucinations barely missed him. "What the hell are you doing?" the man growled as Jim jumped back again. "Fight or get out of our way!"

If he could actually hit them, all three men would have been on the floor by now—there was more than enough rage in Jim's system to put them there. Instead, he ducked under another swing and stepped to the side, twisting out of the way of a wild punch from one of the other men.

He was avoiding a jab from the third when his foot hit a patch of gravel wrong and he fell. Hard. Pain raced up his leg from his ankle, but he gritted his teeth against it and pushed himself back up. He readied himself for another assault, leaning heavily on his uninjured leg. What would happen if he didn't move out of the way fast enough? Was that enough to fail the Trial?

Thankfully, he didn't have to find out. Tarsus faded around him, replaced by the stone and gravel of the arena once more.

He allowed himself a sigh of relief, briefly letting his eyes slip closed. When he opened them again, the scenery had changed. How much longer would this last?

. . .

Four more hallucinations. Jim was forced to face four more hallucinations following the Tarsus vision and his subsequent injury, and it was all Spock could do to keep the rage that burned inside him from taking control and usurping his logic. Jim's injury was not serious. If it had been, the Trials would have been stopped. The pain he saw flash across his ashayam's face with every other step threatened to break his hold on that logic, however.

Finally, the hallucination Jim was experiencing faded and no other shimmered to life to take its place. A chime rang through the arena, and Spock saw Jim's shoulders slump with the exhaustion he only now allowed himself to feel, then the screen changed to the view of the Trial Masters' room.

"The Trial of Leadership is now complete. Representative Kirk has demonstrated that the Federation is capable of weighing risks, upholding justice, thinking critically, and sacrificing for the betterment of the weak. He will be administered the antidote and returned to the Enterprise along with one of the medical officers."

The screen turned black, and Spock slowly unclenched his fists. His palms were sticky with his blood, but he hardly noticed the wounds. It was over.