AN: I admit this is more a companion piece than a stand alone chapter. However, it needed to be written and I'm back to 50 hour weeks soooo writing is on the back burner once more :/ Updates from here out will likely be sporadic.


"James T. Kirk?"

"Excuse me?" he responded, confused.

"How did you find me?" The Vulcan stared back at him, dark eyes searching. "Does Starfleet know of my presence?"

"How do you know my name?" he countered.

"I have been, and always shall be, your friend," what appeared to be an elderly Vulcan stated.

"Wha... oh, look... sorry, I don't know you." He was in no mood to deal with Vulcans at the –

"I am Spock."

"Bullshit."


Under the circumstances, and in the presence of a good deal more illumination, Pike might have found his watery surroundings pleasant. As it was, the straps that held him in place atop the semi submerged platform contributed to a general sense of ill-being. The dark, hooded being quietly looking down at him from a suspended state he'd realized no one seemed to be acknowledging also happened to … unnerve him. In fact, his captor merely watched attentively as his crew moved to further secure Pike with a determined efficiency he had decided was a product of fanaticism and not fear.

Nero approached only when they had finished their work and spent a moment staring down at him. Tightly bound, Pike did his best to fill his mind with Mozart, though he wasn't sure the anti-interrogation technique would be sufficient to save him from whatever was coming.

Expecting a blow, contemptuous spittle, or at least a tongue-lashing, he was surprised by Nero's almost apologetic tone. Surprised enough to briefly forget the unshifting, cloaked being that was mirroring his position in the air above him.

"Captain Christopher Pike. An honor. Truly. I regret that the circumstances must be as they are."

"Likewise." He refocused determinedly on the dark being as he played back the second to last movement of the Jupiter Symphony in his head. "Romulan." Did it have eyes under that unnaturally suspended hood?

Nero sighed. "Centuries ago, before the Vulcan High Council decided to reveal themselves to the people of Earth in order to inform them that they were not alone in the universe, and to invite them into the Federation, we would occasionally observe your species from a distance." He paused. "You are a more noble race than our deplorable fallen cousins."

He couldn't help the snort that left him. "If that's an attempt to drive a wedge between us, it's a pretty feeble one."

Nero smiled. "An understandable presumption on your part but such was not my intent. I speak truly when I say that I feel that humankind is a more decent species than the Vulcans – the great majority of whom are now, thankfully, no more. Humans can feel, can suffer, can be aware of their surroundings on the level the forever 'logical' Vulcans cannot. In this, you are closer to my kind than to them.

"You'll excuse me," Pike muttered, "if I don't feel any special kinship at the moment." He was actually torn somewhere between terrified and mystified. Could they even see their guest?

Could they see Death staring him directly in the face?

Nero stiffened slightly. "I'll take no pleasure in humanity's extinction."

"Your attempts to draw a link between our different species are growing progressively more feeble. Pardon me if I don't feel reassured."

Of course, at that point, he was rather certain even a priest wouldn't have been able to reassure him.

"It's not your fault," Nero went on, "that Starfleet chose Earth for it's headquarters and the Federation for its center, nor do I chastise you for your allegiance to your own. I find both it and you admirable. But despite this there is something I require from you and will obtain by whatever means necessary in spite of my avowed admiration."

Nero's tone darkened. Pike barely registered the change, staring into the depths as he was.

"You must have so many questions for me. I have only one for you. I need the Subspace frequencies that alert Starfleet to hostile intrusion. Specifically those surrounding Earth."

Pike's voice grew faint and his expression distant. "It- it's strange, but I - I feel myself... Not remembering," he concluded with a strange smile, gaze reconnecting with his captor's eyes. As terrified as he was, Nero didn't need to know it. "Recent events must have affected my memory. I'm afraid the information you're asking for has completely and permanently fled my mind."

Stepping back, Nero gestured. Two crew members who had been standing in the shadows, out of his line of sight, advanced toward the platform and its pool. One of them was carrying a container; his companion, instruments. Pike tried not to look in their direction. Since he was also trying not to look up, he forced himself to maintain eye contact with Nero.

"Ambushing your opponent isn't very noble," he told Nero accusingly.

"True." The Romulan nodded in agreement. "In this case it's an act of Mercy. I give you one last chance to recall the information I require." He smiled thinly. "I strongly suggest you look hard into your 'deteriorating' memory."

Pike turned away, resigning himself. "Christopher Pike, Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise. Registration NCC-1701."

Nero's tone hardened. "Christopher. Answer my question."

"No. You answer for the genocide who just committed on a peaceful Planet."

"I prevented genocide!"


"It is remarkably pleasing to see you again, old friend. Especially after the events of today."

"Uh, sir I appreciate what you did for me today, but, but if you were Spock you would know we're not friends at all," this younger version of his friend stated. "You hate me, you marooned me here for mutiny."

"Mutiny?" Truly? Whatever had Jim done this time?

"Yes."

"You are not the Captain?"

"No, no. Umm... you're the Captain. Pike was taken hostage."

"By Nero."

"What do you know about him?"

"He is a particularly troubled Romulan." He reached forward, hand out. "Please, allow me. It will be easier."

"Whoah, whoah! What are you doin'?"

"Our minds. One and together."


"Christopher, I chose a life of honest labor to provide for myself – and the wife who was carrying my child. I sit here now, knowing you as an enemy. Not just of today, but of tomorrow. I watched helplessly as your Federation," he spat the word, "did nothing. They let us die, to the last man, woman, and child."

Pike suddenly found himself more confused than fearful, momentarily forgetting the visage, or lack thereof, that looked down upon him. "Then you're mistaken. Romulus has not been destroyed. How can you blame the Federation for something that hasn't happened?"

"It did happen! I remember it. I – felt it. When I lost her, I promised myself I would not speak another word until the day of my retribution. In twenty-five years, I forgot the sound of my own voice. But I didn't forget the pain. That feeling cannot be erased." Unrepentant anger crept back into his voice. "A feeling that every surviving Vulcan now shares."

"If what you say is true," Pike hurried on, "you can save Romulus. You have a second chance to – "

"Yes," Nero overrode him. "Which is a gift I won't waste on mercy. My purpose, Christopher, is not simply to avoid the destruction of the home I love, but to create a Romulus that can exist free of the Federation. Only then can her future be assured."

Pike turned away and half closed his eyes, looking up in spite of himself. "Then we have nothing more to discuss."

The commander of the Narada sighed. "As you wish."


Spock ended the mind meld and withdrew his hand, leaving Kirk sweaty and crying.

"Forgive me. Emotional transference is an effect of the mind meld."

"So you do feel?"

"Yes," he said simply. "We must go. There is a Starfleet outpost not far from here."

"Wait. Where you came from, did I know my father?"

"Yes. You often spoke of him as being your inspiration for joining Starfleet. He proudly lived to see you become Captain of the Enterprise."

"Captain?"

"A ship we must return you to as soon as possible."


As he looked up, Pike couldn't help but feel as if he were looking firmly into the eyes of Death itself, for he was certain to his very core that was who mirrored him. It stared back at him, suspended in a grand and eerie manner, its cowl moved by a gentle wind that he could not feel brushing against his exposed flesh. Its tattered robes, dark as the deep space he loved so dearly, rippling without defining a true shape, were enticing.

He briefly considered whether the first strains of The Last Journey or Dylan Thomas were more appropriate for the situation he found himself in.

A brace of attending crew moved forward to close in around him and he decided neither was quite appropriate. He would not wait for the train in the station for he still had a duty to his crew and the people of Earth; he still had fight coursing through his veins. So he would not go gently into that good night, but he would not resign himself to this being's company.

That is not to say he would refuse the company however. The company, he knew, would help him endure the torture he knew was to come.

One handed, Nero handled a pair of gleaming metal tongs, reserving the other hand for a sealed box. "Given the determination you have displayed thus far," he stated after a time, "it is, while time-wasting as well as disappointing, no less than I expected of you. I regret the discomfort that is to come.

"The frequencies, please."

"Christopher Pike, Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise. Registration NCC-1701," he recited, his mind only partially rooted in his surroundings.

"As you wish," Nero announced, in a manner similar to one who was resigned to engaging in a distasteful but necessary act.

As he opened the box and revealed its contents, Pike forced himself to focus in on the portion of Death's robes that indicated a head, imagining Its eyes to be as strong and mesmerizing as a dying star, drawing all within Its view.

'Rilke,' he decided as the creature that was taken from the box was placed on his belly and his fate explained. He quietly began to recite the poem in his head, over and over, allowing the unfathomable depths of the empty cowl that looked down upon him to draw him further away from the pain that was beginning to descend upon him.

'Before us Death stands, Our fate held close within his quiet hands…'


"You're coming with us, right?"

"No, Jim. That is not my destiny."

"Your dest... He... the other Spock is not going to believe me. Only you can explain what's gonna happen."

"Under no circumstances, can he be aware of my existence. You must promise me this."

"You're telling me I can't tell you that I'm following your own orders. Why not? What happens?"

"Jim, this is one rule you cannot break. To stop Nero, you alone must take command of your ship."

"How? Over your dead body?"

"Preferably not. However, there is Starfleet regulation six-one-nine. Six-one-nine states that any commanding officer who's emotionally compromised by the mission at hand, must resign said command."

"Yea, I've tried that angle."

"You have?"

"That's how I ended up here. What about Harriet? You seem to listen to her."

"…Who is Harriet?"


Prompt: the spaces in-between; seen, not heard