The apprehension on Jackson's face made Leonard's stomach flip.

Just get me to Spock.

That became his mantra as he trailed behind the angel. The longer they walked, however, and the more he turned it over in his mind, the less Leonard came to believe it.

Spock always knows what to do.

Just don't tell him I said that…

He could almost see Jim cracking a smile, his contagious laughter echoing off the bridge walls.

Jim…

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

You've seen stranger things than this.

Sure, but never anything so terrible, so…

Absolutely devastating.

Of all the places he thought Jackson might take him, the Embassy hadn't even crossed his mind.

"What are we doing here?"

Jackson cast a sidelong glance his way. "You told me to take you to Spock."

"Yeah, but…" It doesn't make sense. None of it makes—"Why here?"

In response, Jackson simply pursed his lips and gestured to a group of Vulcans. At the head of the small cluster of four or five stood Spock—tall, proud, and as unemotional as ever.

"Spock!" He hadn't meant to shout so loud, his voice reverberating through the large room as his boots drove him across the floor. "Spock, thank goodness! Look, I know I screwed everything up, and you and Jim can hate me for as long as you like, I don't care. You just have to help me! Tell me I'm not crazy. Tell me the Enterprise is docked somewhere up there and that y'all are just starting your shore leave."

Please, just—

"Have we met?" The question was so blunt, so Spock, and yet it wasn't. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror: the same reflection, yet distorted and all bent out of shape.

This was Spock, all right.

Yet, it wasn't Spock.

The lack of Starfleet Blue wasn't the startling part—Spock could wear whatever he liked, Leonard supposed. No, it was the thick, pristine robes draped about his frame, the kind Leonard had only seen on Ambassador Spock Prime.

Logic told him to proceed with caution, but his heart had taken the reins long ago.

"If the pattern of the night is anything to go by, you probably don't know who I am. That's fine, as long as you help me! I can't believe I'm asking this, but just mind meld me or something. That man back there, he has me under some sort of spell and I can't… I can't break free of it."

"I am not in the habit of performing mind melds with strangers."

"Come on, Spock, I'm not offering you candy! I'm asking for your help!"

Without so much as a raise of the brow, Spock turned to one of his companions. "T'Sor, call security if you would."

"Of course, Ambassador."

"No, wait!" Though the smart option would've been to high-tail it out of there before the other Vulcan could perform his task, Leonard pressed forward.

They'd had their differences over the years—and plenty of them—but this felt different. This hurt.

He had always thought they were closer than this. Out of everyone, Spock should've been the one to know, to figure it all out, to be on his side.

Come on, Spock…

If he didn't think grabbing Spock's robe would've done more harm than good, he would have clung to it for dear life. "Something happened to my communicator. If you'd just call Uhura and get someone to beam me up, I'd take back every insult I've ever shot at you! Just get someone to beam me back to the ship, please!"

A rare flash of emotion as Spock's brows dipped, his hard eyes softening. "You've seen Nyota?"

"Of course, I've seen her! I talked to her just this morning."

Spock schooled his expression so quickly, it left Leonard second-guessing whether he'd simply imagined the emotion. "To borrow the very human figure of speech, I find it funny—without seeing any humor in the situation whatsoever—that you could have spoken with her this morning considering she has been dead approximately five years, six months, two days."

Dead.

A phaser blast to the chest would've hurt less.

How?

"Spock…" Rubbing a quick hand over his temple, Leonard locked his gaze on the Vulcan. "Spock, please, you've got to help me. I don't know what's going on, but everything's different—everything's wrong, and I don't know what to do or how to fix it. Spock, you… you always know what to do, you…" He shook his head, realizing with a renewed sense of dread that he was losing Spock's attention. "Someone's doing weird things with my mind! Please, you have to help me!"

"Security." Only when Spock said it did Leonard realize his time had run out. "It's clear this man is in need of help. Please escort him to San Francisco General Hospital."

"No!" Someone grabbed his arm; Leonard yanked it free. "No, Spock! Spock, I'm not crazy! You know I'm not crazy, I'm—"

"Come with us, sir, and we'll get you some—"

"Get off me!" He heard a sharp crack as pain exploded through his knuckles. Leonard didn't dare look back at the chaos brewing behind him.

Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the exit.

He lost them at the large double doors, fleeing the building faster than a ship at Warp Ten.

Lungs burning, he came to a halt in a small, secluded area. Where? He couldn't say. It didn't matter, anyway. All that mattered was—

"Jack," he heaved, hands resting on his knees as he fought for a breath. "Explain that all to me."

The stranger stood idly at Leonard's side, as if he had simply beamed over when Leonard wasn't looking. "I told you, you were never born. Of course, Spock wouldn't know you."

"No. Explain to me why Spock's the damn Ambassador of Vulcan instead of the best First Officer in the 'Fleet!"

"The choice to leave wasn't difficult."

"What do you mean, it wasn't difficult? Spock loved Starfleet! Not that he'd admit it, the stuck-up hobgoblin, but he never would've left!"

"Without Uhura, Starfleet wasn't the same. And without his planet—without Spock Prime to take over the reconstruction of New Vulcan—the choice was, as Spock would say, all too logical."

By now, Leonard felt himself fumbling for excuses; for the reasons why that wouldn't stop slipping through his fingers. "Well, he had Jim, didn't he? Isn't theirs supposed to be some life-changing friendship or bond or whatever crap old Spock wouldn't stop going off about? Jim would've made him stay and—"

"Jim who? To Spock, Jim was merely that one annoying cadet who cheated on his test."

"Okay, okay. Fine. Spock's not in Starfleet anymore and Uhura's…" No, don't say it. Don't you dare."What about Sulu? M'Benga, Scotty?" Even as he listed off the names, Leonard had a sinking feeling he didn't want to know the answer. "What happened to them…?"

"Like Uhura, Sulu didn't survive Nero's ambush. Doctor M'Benga was assigned to a different ship because you weren't there to recommend him to Jim."

Leonard swallowed, his dry throat constricting until he couldn't catch a full breath. "And Scotty?" Do I even want to know…?

"Still stationed on Delta Vega, where he'll no doubt stay until he manages to secure another position." If he can, came the unspoken afterthought. Sucking in a breath, Jackson shivered as a cold wind brushed their faces. "Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives, and when he isn't around he leaves an awful hole… doesn't he?"

"That…" Leonard shook his head, trying to still his trembling arms. "That wasn't me, though, it was Jim. Jim did all that stuff! He's the captain! He saved everyone from Nero and Khan and Krall and… and I just—"

"You just kept Jim from being left behind on that first mission to Vulcan. Your quick thinking got Jim aboard the Enterprise, enabling his quick thinking to save the lives of the crew."

Head spinning, Leonard stumbled toward the street, not knowing where his feet were taking him, but not really caring either.

A communicator. He needed something to call… to call someone.

The public comm stations were all empty that late at night, so Leonard picked one at random and let his fingers fly.

He could have called the Enterprise. Jim, Uhura, Sulu, he could've called any of them, yet he had the sickening feeling they wouldn't be there to answer.

What possessed him to call that particular number, he couldn't say. The only explanation seemed to stem from a deep-rooted, nagging desire for home.

"Hello?"

Proceeding with caution, Leonard asked, "Hi, is this still the McCoy residence?"

"Yes," came the gentle reply, "you've called the right place. This is Eleanora McCoy speaking."

Leonard inhaled, closing his eyes in sweet relief. "Mama… oh, thank God, I—"

"May I ask who's calling?"

Stunned only for a moment, Leonard forced himself to press on. "Mama… Mama, it's me, Leonard. Don't you… I thought for sure you'd remember me."

"Leonard? Leonard who?"

"Leonard who… Leonard your son!"

The once kind yet confused voice chilled, icing over like a lake during a blizzard. "Son? I don't have any children. Now, I don't know who you are but—"

"No children? Wait, but what about Donna?"

A beat. Leonard held his breath. "How do you know about her?"

"She's my sister, damn it!"

"The last thing I need right now is for some stranger to dredge up memories of my poor baby girl."

"What?" Leonard stilled, heart hammering its relentless battle cry deep inside his chest. "What happened to Donna?"

"If you knew half as much as you claim to," she snapped, "you'd know my darling girl's appendix ruptured while she was on holiday. There wasn't anything anybody could do. Now, unless you—"

"Mama, you've got to listen!" Gasping for air, Leonard slammed his palm against the device. "Something terrible's happened to me and I don't… I don't know what it is. Something's happened to everybody and I don't…" He choked back a sob. "Please, please, you've got to help me."

Oh, God, please help me…

It took him ten seconds too long to realize the line had gone dead.

Dead.

Dead, dead, they're all—

Jackson's voice filtered through the cold night air. "Are you sure you had the right number?"

Carding a hand through his hair, Leonard blew out a shaky sigh. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. All I know is that it sounded like my mother, but it didn't sound like her. You know…? And what was all that about Donna? I was there on that trip. I was there in Vermont when her appendix… We caught it just in time and—"

The sudden thought that plagued his mind was almost too much to bear. It was all Leonard could do to remain upright as the world spun. Round and round and round until…

"Jack…" For the first time that night, Leonard met the angel's gaze and took a good, long look. The truth in the hazel orbs cut through the night like a dagger. It was a truth Leonard's heart could no longer ignore, even as his mind rallied against the… the illogic of it all.

"Yes, Leonard?"

"Where's Joanna?"

"Well, now I don't think—"

"Look, I don't know how you know these things, but tell me, please… where is she?"

"You're not going to like it."

"I don't like any of this! Please!"

After pausing for perhaps the longest moment in Leonard's life, Jackson finally opened his mouth, explaining in a small voice, "You were never born, Leonard. Neither was Joanna."

Leonard couldn't get his fingers to move fast enough, pulling Jocelyn's number from the deepest depths of his memory.

The true miracle of the night, in Leonard's opinion, was that she actually answered.

"Hello?"

"Jocelyn," Leonard croaked, trying in vain to keep the anxiety from seeping into his tone.

"Yeah? Make it quick, all right? I'm busy."

"I'm just… just calling about Joanna. How is she?"

"Joanna?" The familiar wrinkling of Jocelyn's nose bled into her voice. "Who's—"

"Joanna McCoy! I'm not playing your games this time, Joce. Where is she?" And if he sounded a bit hysterical, well, who was around to judge? "Where's our little girl?"

"Ah, tryin' to play that card, are you? Well, let me tell you a thing or two, buster. You're not the first low-down, dirty swindler I've had to deal with over the years. You won't be getting a single cent from me. You really think we had a fling once upon a time? Then be my guest. Go ahead and contact the higher-ups, for all the good that'll do. We'll see who comes out on top in the end, and let me give you a little hint: it's always me. 'Night, loser."

A click.

Then, the line went silent.

His little girl. His precious little girl…

Gone.

Wind whipped at his face, tugging at his hair and stinging his eyes. Salty thick tears stung his lips and he smeared a hand across his cheeks.

"All right… All right, angel or demon or… or whatever you are. Just get things back to normal." A sob caught in his throat and it took everything in Leonard to swallow it back down. "Get me back. Please, just—"

"There!"

Leonard whirled around in time to see a team of security guards rushing down the street, phasers at the ready. Part of him just wanted to surrender; to give into it all and let go.

That's what you were going to do earlier, wasn't it? Before all this?

Instinct, however, had other plans, forcing his legs into a dead sprint.

All the while, his mind wouldn't stop questioning him: why are you running?

Why?

Because.

Leonard clenched his fists, pushing himself harder, faster.

I want to live.

Phaser fire shot past his right shoulder. A stun blast, nothing more, yet it was enough to spur him on toward—

Where?

The bar.

It's where this all started, and damn it, if it all has to end, it's gonna end there.

Several more blasts dug into the ground beneath him, closing in on both sides.

But he'd had a good head start.

You can make it.

You have to make it.

Why? It's not like anyone's waiting for you. Not anymore.

Shut.

Up!

By the time he had reached the crummy little bar, Leonard was sure he'd worn his heart and lungs out completely. Everything hurt, his legs felt like equal parts lead and jello, and he couldn't for the life of him get the world to stop tilting this way and that.

Stumbling over to the wall, he collapsed against it, sinking to his knees when his legs refused to hold him up any longer.

"Jack!" A glance around told him that, much to his shocked dismay, he had finally lost his shadow. "Jackson, where are you? Help me, Jack. Get me back! Get me back, I don't care what happens to me… Just get me back to my friends—to my daughter. Help me, Jackson, please! Please, I know you're the only one who can! I want to live again!" As sobs wracked his chest, Leonard felt all the energy drain away from him. "I want to live again…" The wet whispers tasted as desperate and bitter as the tears trailing down his cheeks. "I just want to live again. Please, God, let me live again…"