Part 6. Author's note: Sorry, this is taking so long to get posted. I had a busy day and couldn't get the kidlet to go to sleep tonight for ages, but here's a little longer update…

Sitting up more fully, Jim stretched and realized he had fallen asleep fully clothed. It reminded him again of Tarsus IV, sleeping fully dressed and never able to fully relax, never knowing when he would have a chance or need to run away in the night. After burying the memories for so many years, they were raw and on the surface.

He'd spent most of the last twelve years acting as though it had never happened, as if people he'd known hadn't died around him and he hadn't starved for weeks.

All it had taken was a seven minute psychic attack to strip that bare, and prove that his façade of normalcy was just that.

The only comfort was that no one but he and Spock knew the truth. Jim remembered what it had been like when he first returned to Earth. Classmates sending each other data files of the genocide, highlighting the few that showed Jim's face and asking probing questions in their cruelty and innocence that ripped through his tightly wound control. "How did you survive? Did you kill anyone? What did you eat?" At first he answered honestly. Eventually, he just stopped answering.

There was the well meaning teacher a year later who pointed him out as a survivor in order to connect their reading to current events, then thought nothing of the fact that reading Elie Wiesel's "Night" might hit to close to the mark for Jim. He made it through only a few chapters before refusing to finish his assignments, earning his first of many failing grades.

There were the few times he had been too drunk or too stupid not to talk about it had been worse though. Watching the change that came across a lover's face and they recalled everything they knew about Tarsus IV: the child soldiers killing innocents, the rumored eating of human flesh, the survivors that prostituted themselves to soldiers and officials to stay alive even a little longer, and all the sensationalism that have covered the data net during the trials afterwards.

Most of all, he thought of the way that person's eyes would search his, and the horror and pity in their expression. It had taught Jim never to speak about the genocide.

Spock was looking at him with neither though. He looked concerned maybe, it was hard still to decipher that stoic face, but that was all. There eyes met and Spock said, "Do you recall what you once said to me when I was yet emotionally unstable due to the destruction of my planet?"

Jim was silent for long moments. "There's no shame in surviving." he whispered softly.

"Were those words not true when you shared them with me? Why don't they apply to yourself?"

"I'm not ashamed of surviving. I'm ashamed of the things I had to do to survive," he corrected in a low tone.

Jim knew Spock had seen everything in his mind before, all the old horrors of just how far he would go to save himself and whoever was under his care, even briefly.

But Spock seemed surprised by his response, and spoke to him as sternly as Jim had ever heard him when he was dressing down a careless science officer.

"That is illogical, even for a human. You yourself kept at least three surviving children alive for 6.5 days. There were multiple times you allowed people to escape or purposefully did not kill someone when ordered before that. As far as you know you never killed another being and you ran from Kodos' service at the first survivable opportunity. In similar circumstances at such a young age, I do not believe I would have been able to remain as immune to the pressure of those around me."

His first officer looked him directly in the eyes and challenged him, "Why should you feel shame or guilt for any of those things?"

"I don't know," Jim replied softly, "I was just a kid and I know I did the best I could in the situation, but I think I will always feel that way, like it was my fault. Survivor's guilt, right?"

Spock sat quietly, mentally examining what he knew of post traumatic stress disorders and related issues. As a telepath, and a strong one even among his people, there were options open to him that no human healer could consider.

"I could… remove those memories from your mind if you wished. My telepathy is sufficient."

Shocked, Kirk actually considered the idea, and it had appeal. To lack the haunting memories. To sleep peacefully at night. To be the person he was always meant to be if he had never left Earth for the colony.

"No…" he said quietly. "I hate what I went through on Tarsus, but it made me who I am, fuck ups and all. I won't change that."

Spock gave an approving nod.

"Most logical Captain."

"It's Jim, Spock."

"Jim, then. Dr. McCoy was aware of what happened last night and he is threatening, and I quote, to "sedate everyone involved into next week" if we attempt to work today. He seemed very… serious."

Jim smiled. "You mean pissed? He's probably sorry he missed it. Bones doesn't indulge in drinking often but when he does, he's a sad drunk. He would have had us all crying and hanging on each other. He's always trying to convince me that crying over bad memories is more appropriate that fighting when drunk."

A brief flash of disgust passed Spock's face before he controlled it. "It is fortunate then that he did not join us earlier this evening, and I doubt that either response is appropriate. The preferred situation would be not to imbibe alcohol at all."

"Hnh." Jim grunted in reply, deciding he needed a shower badly before deciding what to do with the rest of the day. "I guess that would be true for you. The chocolate didn't really seem to affect you. Was Uhura pulling my leg?"

Spock looked puzzled for a moment. "Pulling your… Oh, a idiom that denotes trying to deceive another person? What Uhura told you was true. Please do not constantly try to force chocolate on me in any fashion in the future."

"Damn, he knows me too well," Jim thought to himself. It would be interesting to see if Spock would react to cocoa powder hidden in innocent looking foods in the future though.

"But it didn't affect you anyway, really…" Jim pointed out.

Spock quirked an eyebrow and flushed. Was he embarrassed?

"It most certainly did. How else do you explain the fact that I came to stay beside your bed tonight. I… was quite concerned for how you would cope with the resurgence of your experience."

Jim smiled, "A Vulcan wouldn't normally watch out for a friend?"

There was a pause, as though Spock was trying to find the correct way to phrase his response. "A Vulcan would consider such actions illogical and would deny the emotional attachment of friendship."

Standing up, Jim reached out and placed his hand on Spock's shoulder. "Good thing you're only half-Vulcan then, because I consider you a friend. You've turned into an important one these last 5 months since we met."

There went the slightly green flush again. Spock was definitely embarrassed. Now that Jim could recognize the signs he was going to have to fluster his first officer as much as possible. His version of a blush was quite interesting.

"I am honored to be held in such esteem, Captain."

Jim stretched and this time actually bothered to begin getting out of bed. "Well, no work then. I'm planning to clean up, drop by and see Bones to get something for this headache, and then I might actually feel up to eating as well. Meet me in the mess hall for breakfast?"

Spock studied him a moment before nodding. "I require sustenence as well. I trust you will force me to watch you eat something with too much sugar that involves animal flesh?"

Kirk gave him what his mother used to call his "shit-eating grin".

"Yeah! Pancakes and sausage sounds pretty good today."

Jim just knew that if Spock was completely human, the look he had just been graced with would have included rolled eyes.

"See you in the mess in an hour?"

"Indeed." Spock replied, getting up and leaving in the same outfit he had been wearing last night, only wrinkled. The ship gossip was going to love that, Jim thought. He couldn't wait to see the looks that would follow them at breakfast as a result.

Shrugging his shoulders and hearing them crack with tension, Jim headed for the bathroom.