Thank you for coming back. Follow our crew trying to pick up the pieces, all while still being trapped.
At the end of the shift, he went to his quarters, noticing on the way how quiet the hallways seemed. It might be the contrast to the chaos he had witnessed before, or the unnatural calm left by over one hundred and fifty departed souls. He did not meet a single crewmember as he walked the corridors of E Deck and the quiet that greeted him in his cabin was no different to the quiet outside.
He sat down at his desk and turned on his personal computer. "Captain's log…," he began, and after pausing briefly, he continued detailing the last hours and the change in command.
He entertained the possibility of meditating afterwards, but then his eyes fell on a picture on his desk and he made a decision. There was another duty he had to fulfil.
After entering a command into the food synthesizer and taking the object it procured, he left his cabin again and turned towards sickbay.
Walking past the shrouded figures and the motionless form of Ensign Hopkins and some other new arrivals, he made a beeline for McCoy's office.
When he entered, he found him sitting at his desk, his eyes fixed on the monitor. Spock did not need to see the display to know it was showing the list of casualties.
The Doctor raised his head as the Vulcan stepped closer. "Spock. Somethin' I can help you with?"
Spock held up the bottle he had brought, and the two glasses.
"You surprise me. Is that the logical way?"
"It's what the Captain would have done," Spock replied matter-of-factly and filled both glasses with a small amount of the beverage.
"You know I can take a little bit more whiskey than that, right?"
"I am aware. We should refrain from consuming higher amounts of alcohol, however. We need to stay alert."
"Well, this'll do, then," McCoy shrugged and raised his glass as he waited for Spock. He would have preferred a ship-wide memorial service, but it had to wait until they were out of danger.
Spock raised his glass and looked at Dr McCoy. "To absent friends and comrades."
"To absent friends and comrades," McCoy repeated and added, with a pointed look at the Vulcan, "And to the Captain of the Enterprise."
He seemed to hesitate but eventually nodded and emptied the glass in one sip, with McCoy following.
The Doctor cleared his throat. "You know, he didn't die alone. I was with him, Spock. Thought you'd like to know."
Spock nodded. "I am glad to hear that. Thank you, Doctor." He noticed that McCoy did not try to reassure him that Jim had died without suffering, and he decided not to ask now.
"He told me to tell you something."
"What is that?" Spock asked and looked at him intently.
"I didn't quite understand…He said, 'Tell Spock it was the best of times.'"
"He was referring to something I gave him for his birthday once," Spock said, addressing his empty glass.
McCoy remained silent as he waited for him to continue.
"It's the opening line of Charles Dickens' 'A Tale of Two Cities': 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…'. I gave the book to him just before the fatal training mission during which I lost my life."
McCoy instinctively took Spock's arm and barely resisted pulling him into a hug. He doubted that he would appreciate it. But Spock pressed his hand with his in return and when Leonard looked up into his face, his eyes projected all the pain and gratitude he was unable to put into words.
"I'll miss him, too."
Spock only pursed his lips and nodded.
"He was glad it was him and not you. I could see it in his face," the Doctor carried on. "He always saw us as the best part of him, didn't he? His crew, his friends, his family." He paused for a moment, knitting his brow. "Do you think we'll manage?"
"We will have to. That's what he would have wanted."
Dr McCoy smiled affectionately. Yes, Jim would have wanted them to carry on, to survive, and make the best of what they had. And he was sure, even in his grief, that they would make the best of it. After they had picked up the shattered pieces of their lives.
"How do you feel, Spock?"
Leonard couldn't resist the question, and he didn't expect an answer but deemed it appropriate to open the door for anything Spock might have wanted to say.
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow at him and scoffed mirthlessly. "Really, Doctor?"
"It's ok, Spock. Me, too."
He considered taking another gulp of whiskey but thought better of it. Spock was right, as usual. They needed to keep their wits about them, and he already had a headache. Alcohol would not help.
"Do you need something to help you sleep?" McCoy asked as they said their goodbyes.
"No, thank you, Doctor."
"You do intend to sleep, do you?"
Spock sighed. "Yes, Doctor, I intend to."
McCoy thought it wise not to prod any more. "Good night, Spock."
"Good night, Doctor."
Spock left, and only when the door had closed behind him did McCoy lean back against his desk and allow himself to cry.
When he heard the door open and close again, he thought Spock had come back for some reason. But it was his colleague.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Christine," he murmured as he wiped his eyes.
"Shush. Don't apologise."
"Too many, Christine, too many and too early," he muttered as she walked over to him. "Jim, Scotty, and all the others….Most of them were much younger than me. And Spock, that poor Vulcan…"
"I know…," she whispered and gently wrapped her arms around him, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Go to sleep Leonard, we'll hand it over to the nightshift," she said while gently stroking his back.
"I won't sleep well."
"None of us will, after today."
She turned out to be right. No one slept particularly well, or at all, that night. Some of them were plagued by nightmares, some were tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep, and some didn't even try.
In the morning, Spock left the forward observation lounge where he had leant against the old steering wheel, immersed in meditation. When the lift doors opened, he was faced with Christine Chapel.
"Well, come on in, Spock. Think I'm gonna rat you out?"
"Rat me out?" he asked, stepping into the cabin.
"I know for a fact that your quarters are nowhere near this deck. You haven't slept, have you?"
He shot her a sideways glance and quirked an eyebrow at her. "Neither are yours."
"You need to rest," she said, ignoring his evasive retort. "What did you do? There's not much stargazing to do in this fold."
"I did rest," he answered with an almost irritated sigh. "I meditated."
"Well, better than nothing I suppose."
Christine leant against the wall of the lift and closed her eyes. Spock watched her for a moment, taking in her exhausted appearance.
"Did you sleep at all? Your quarters are higher up as well."
"Oh, I did. I just went down to the arboretum."
"You slept in the botanic section?"
Christine laughed despite herself. "No, Spock. I slept in my quarters, then I woke up early, couldn't go back to sleep again, and went down to the arboretum. Satisfied?"
She didn't hear his answer, as the lift jolted unpleasantly, accompanied by a faint rumbling.
"What was that now?" she burst out as she stabilised herself against the wall.
"I believe we grazed one of the gravitational swirls. And the lift is passing through the damaged decks right now." He sounded unbothered but turned to face her a moment later. "I would advise you to avoid the lower decks from now on. The structural integrity is impaired, and with repairs progressing only slowly and ineffectively, there is no guarantee for personal safety."
"Yes, I can't waste ship's resources and endanger the deputy CMO, can I?" She pouted in a display of mock affront.
"Exactly," Spock replied, matter-of-factly.
"Why thank you. I'm touched by your concern."
She rolled her eyes at him as they left the lift on E Deck, something she never would have dared during the five-year mission.
Spock looked at her with a quizzical frown as they walked along the corridor.
"Doctor…"
"Christine."
"Yes, Christine. I didn't mean…"
"I know, Spock." She smiled fondly up at him. "I was teasing."
When he entered his cabin a minute later, he was still wondering at his human shipmates' constant need for teasing, particularly concerning him. He would have to ask Jim about it. Or not.
Following his habitual routine, he prepared for the morning shift. On a final note, he tugged at the hem of his uniform one last time to straighten out some creases.
Then, the red alarm wailed and he calmly left his cabin.
To be continued...
And here we go again. Do you think they'll fare better now? Buckle up! Review if you want, but no pressure!