He gripped the rock with his bare hands, ignoring the dramatic altitude at which he climbed. A sheen of sweat covered his face, but his breathing was even and unstressed. He was aware of the fact that one unstable handhold would be fatal. No equipment or safety restraints; it was all-or-nothing. Just the way he liked it.

Down at the base of the mountain, another man watched through rental binoculars. "You'll have a great time, Bones," he muttered to himself, quoting the first man. "You'll be able to relax." He lowered the binoculars. "You call this relaxing? I'm a nervous wreck!"

"Doctor McCoy, the admiral is more than capable of climbing that mountain," Spock said, descending from above the treetops by the means of his hoverboots. "You need not worry about him. In his new age, El Capitan will prove to be no challenge at all."

"If I wanna complain, I'll do it," McCoy grumbled. "I'm on leave, I can do whatever I want."

"That is true, Doctor. However, the same holds true for Admiral Kirk," Spock said in that maddeningly calm Vulcan voice. "And since he has chosen to free-climb that mountain, you cannot do anything about that fact."

"I know that, you pointy-eared calculator. But that doesn't stop me from complaining about it." He raised the binoculars to his eyes again, watching the seemingly small and far-away form of Kirk climbing the massive rock. The admiral was about three-quarters of the way up, and he had only been climbing for two hours. Logically, it would only take about a half hour for him to finish. And then he would have to come back down, of course. And McCoy had no doubt he would choose the hard way as opposed to having a shuttle pick him up. "One of these days, he's gonna get himself killed doing this sort of thing-" he began to say, then stopped. That had already happened.

Spock merely raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

~~~~~~

Kirk paused in his ascent and looked around, reveling in the view. If there was ever a place to see true beauty, this was it. The cool breeze swept across him, and he inhaled deeply. Earth, in all its glory, would never cease to amaze him.

He turned back to the task at hand. There would be plenty of time to sightsee later, after he reached the top. For now, the solid rock challenged and called to him. He would not deny the victory to himself, nor would he give McCoy an opportunity to gloat over his mistakes.

He felt for a handhold, carefully tested the weight it would hold, then pulled himself upward. Another handhold, another test, another pull. Making good progress, never dislodging even the tiniest pebble. He knew that mountain as well as he knew his own ship...

The Enterprise. Damn. He had all but forgotten that Starfleet was retiring that old starship. They were planning on turning it into a museum, carefully preserving the most famous ship in Starfleet history. Kirk dreaded the thoughts of fame and glory they were giving him, and knew that the Enterprise was now no more than a tourist trap.

There were rumors going around that Starfleet would be giving them a new ship, but as of yet there wasn't any real news. The entire crew knew that the Enterprise could never be replaced, and the new ship would probably be some sort of pale imitation given an odd name like the Excelsior had.

The communicator at his belt chirped, and with a sigh of annoyance he stopped climbing. Kirk kept a firm grip on the mountain with one hand, and pulled out the communicator with the other hand. He flipped it open. "Kirk here."

"You stuck up there forever or something?" McCoy's annoyed voice asked. "Or are you finally getting tired? You've been sitting in relatively the same spot for almost ten minutes now, and Spock is annoying the hell out of me."

"Bones, quit worrying about me! This part of the cliff is just a little trickier than the rest," he lied.

"Bull. That's a vertical crack you're climbing right now. I saw you hanging upside-down a while back, don't you lie to me."

"Was it that obvious?"

"The hell it was. When are you coming down?"

"Not until I reach the top, and don't try to talk me out of it. It'll take me longer to climb back down than it will to continue climbing. Unless I fall, of course." He felt his hand slip a little on the rock. Uh-oh. Sweaty palms were a bad sign when free-climbing a mountain. "Oh, damn."

"What?" McCoy's quick question came.

"My hand's slipping. Sorry Bones, you'll have to chat later." He slammed it shut, quickly placing it in his pocket and reaching for the mountain with his other hand.

He never made it.

"DAAAAAAAAAAMN!" His cry bounced off the mountains and echoed through the valley as he fell the fatal one-kilometer drop.