Chapter 4

According to the information they had found, the best place to purchase fresh seafood was on the coast of the mainland, a twenty minute trip by flitter. In addition, the Alkonost Market boasted not only the best bounty from the Trianian sea, but offered a wide variety of local fruits and vegetables as well, and even had a few booths containing some of the more exotic delicacies from distant worlds. They should be able to find everything they needed in that one location.

As they flew over the archipelago, both men were struck by the incredible sight. Last time they had made the trip at night, and were unable to fully appreciate the splendor of the Trianian landscape. Now they could easily see the island chain, sprouting like oversized mushrooms from the multi-colored water, a kaleidoscope of blue tones ranging from pale turquoise to ultramarine. The white sand on the ocean floor acted like a backdrop serving to showcase the natural wonders visible just under the surface. They were able to pick out substantial coral formations, lush beds of underwater vegetation and large schools of colorful native fish interspersed with the verdant dots of the tropical islands.

"This view is really stunning Spock," McCoy commented, clearly in awe of the spectacle below them. "Too bad Jim's missing this – he'd really enjoy it."

"This is only our first day here Doctor. During the course of our stay there will be ample opportunities for Jim to experience the numerous marvels of nature presented by this planet."

"Well, that's just what the doctor ordered. Jim's been through a lot lately, and we both know self-preservation is certainly not his strong suit. He just doesn't get it that he's not omnipotent, and needs to take it easy once in a while." Spock felt the doctor's eyes on him – searching, questioning – and he was in complete agreement with McCoy's assessment. He kept his voice steady, despite the feelings those words evoked.

"I agree. The captain has not been operating at peak efficiency of late; this leave should serve to afford him the time necessary to recuperate from the pressures of recent months."

"Personally, I think that whole Janice Lester thing hit him a lot harder than he's willing to admit." Again the questioning eyes.

Spock recalled the meld he had shared with the captain while Kirk was trapped in the scientist's body. In addition to instantly recognizing that this unfamiliar female form did indeed house the mind of James Kirk, he had also sensed Jim's unease, the barely contained panic as comprehension quickly dawned for both of them regarding the seriousness of the situation and its implications should they be unable to reverse the process.

It occurred to him that McCoy was fishing for information. So, Jim had not discussed the matter with his CMO, either. He also suspected that the captain's recent insomnia was attributable to that particular incident. Even though he knew the doctor was concerned as well and only wished to help, he found he was reluctant to break Jim's confidence especially since it had not been shared intentionally. Taking all of this into account, he formulated an answer.

"The captain is a resilient individual, both mentally and physically. I am confident that he has put the incident behind him."

Realizing immediately that this was a dismissal – that Spock would not be supplying any additional details regarding this event, McCoy changed the subject. "The two-year anniversary of his brother's death is next month. Last year he holed up in his cabin for two days, on the pretense of catching up on crew fitness reports by the way – and we both know how much he hates doing those – and I never did get a chance to talk to him about it. I know it was hard on him when it happened, but there was so much other stuff going on when Sam and Aurelan died that he never had time to come to grips with the loss. Damn if he doesn't try to act like it didn't really affect him all that much, but we both know him better than that. Maybe this year we should see if we can get him to open up about it. If you ask me, I think he needs the closure."

Spock silently complimented the doctor on his insight. He also believed that Jim had not dealt fully with this incident, and had been planning all along to try and coax his captain to talk about it, perhaps helping to assuage some of the grief and remorse Spock knew his captain still harbored over the loss.

Spock remembered how the loss of Sybok had been most difficult for him at the time. Granted, his brother was not dead, and he had been much younger than Jim, but his captain had also had many more years with Sam. On those rare occasions where Kirk had spoken to Spock about Sam it had been quite clear that his captain was slightly in awe of his older brother, making Jim's loss all the more poignant.

This also caused an unexpected pang of guilt as Spock came to understand that he now thought of Jim as his brother, his memories of Sybok distant and fleeting and clouded by a child's eyes. In the three years Jim had been a major part of his life he had shared many more life-altering experiences with his captain than he had ever done with his half-brother. It was these ties of camaraderie, of duty, of a common purpose, that served to bring about and reinforce their bond of friendship.

"I concur. Jim needs to adequately come to terms with his brother's death and it would be beneficial to his overall well-being if we could facilitate this in some manner. However, you know as well as I do that it can be challenging to get the captain to...discuss freely…those issues which are troubling him; those things he views as strictly of a personal nature. He can be quite adamant in this regard."

"Well, then we need to be more adamant," McCoy countered forcefully. "You know, Spock, sometimes what humans think they want and what they actually need are often two different things," the doctor observed sagely. "And we both know this is especially true with Jim. When it comes to his personal welfare, that man wouldn't know what he needed if it smacked him upside the head."

"Agreed. But we must exercise caution. Jim tends to 'bristle' when confronted."

"Well, then we'll just have to make him see reason. I think between the two of us we can manage that," McCoy declared with confidence.

Spock turned away abruptly, his attention focused on the controls in front of him. They had reached their destination.

As they approached, McCoy whistled at the sheer size of the alien structure. "That's huge – it must sit on close to three hectares." Parking the flitter, they headed for one of the many entrances, picking up an anti-grav cart before entering.

The natives of this planet, regardless of sex, stood about 1.5 meters tall. Due to the tropical climate, their skin was the color of perfectly creamed coffee, topped off by a shock of stark white hair. Both males and females tended to wear their hair at shoulder length, soft, wispy bangs framing their faces. Since Trianian females typically expressed no mammary development except when actively nursing, and males rarely had facial hair, both sexes were remarkably androgynous, off-worlders often having difficulty distinguishing between them. In areas such as this where the tourist traffic was particularly high, females had taken to wearing brightly colored, intricately beaded headbands as a way to set them apart from their male counterparts.

Large signs hanging from the overhead beams indicated what items were located in which sections of the sprawling complex. Briefly surveying their surroundings, McCoy finally headed for the area selling fresh seafood, settling first on a large stall which offered a variety of Trianian fish, shellfish, and marine plants. The person behind the counter was female, as evidenced by the burgundy and aquamarine adornment in her hair.

As the two approached, McCoy elbowed the Vulcan in the ribs. "Let me do the talking, Spock – everything here is done on the barter system, and I can't believe you'd be good at it. You have to be able to schmooze."

"'Schmooze,' Doctor?"

"Never mind." McCoy dismissed Spock's skeptical look with the wave of a hand. "Suffice it to say, it's certainly not your cup of tea."

"On the contrary, Doctor, we Vulcans are renowned for our 'poker faces.' Perhaps that would serve our ends best."

"You're just too vanilla, Spock – too bland, no excitement. You don't know how to titillate the ladies. Just watch the master work his Southern gentlemanly charm."

They stopped in front of the large stall and were met with a wide, toothy grin from the girl behind the counter. As the two of them were not in uniform, and the average Federation citizen did not have a Universal Translator implant, she began speaking to them in broken Standard.

"Greetings gentlemen fine. I am named Durabi. Is there something which here delights your interest?" Her voice was high-pitched, musical, like that of a Terran child.

Spock opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced with a caustic look from McCoy. Turning to the diminutive shopkeeper, the doctor smiled widely in return. "Yes, thank you, my dear. There is something other than your pretty face which has caught my eye."

Spock stifled a sigh, rolling his eyes skyward.

Unfazed, McCoy continued smoothly, "I was just wondering what that fish was over there – the one with the distinctive bright green flesh."

"Is called that P'Mackiee. Flesh is firm and sweet when cooked. Flavor is gentle, not so – how you say – fishy. And is safe to eat by humans. I did not know Vulcans ate of animal flesh, though," she remarked, turning liquid gold eyes to Spock.

"I shall not be partaking of this Trianian delicacy. However, I would be interested in sampling some of your native sea florae," he responded warmly, at least to McCoy's mind.

During this exchange, a young male had materialized from the bowels of the stall, coming to stand beside Durabi. She turned to him, speaking in their native tongue, "Derwalla, uwe frangel, ipobani morye trelawin? Belinye, torzhelye Wulkhanin ima rebala kilanit' grotat'."

Their Universal Translators rendered the statement: "Dear brother, can you please help the older gentleman? I'd love to assist the tall, handsome Vulcan."

McCoy glanced sharply at Spock. His eyebrow had crawled into his hairline, a look of utter disbelief flitting quickly over his face before his look settled into the smug I-told-you-so which he turned on the doctor.

"If you would please to follow me good sir," she said, her gaze focused solely on Spock. "We have of many kinds to choose. All are delicious, and safe to eat by Vulcans." She had started moving toward the far end of the counter, Spock following.

McCoy shot the Vulcan a dark look. Just what was it women found so fascinating about their resident 'cold fish?' Christine was certainly smitten, and that pretty little Leila had positively gushed when in Spock's presence. Must be the ears, he thought, their feelings totally incomprehensible to him. Or the challenge, maybe. Women can't resist trying to reel in the uncatchable man. It's certainly not due to his warm, inviting personality. A melodic voice, pitched an octave below his sister's, roused McCoy from his thoughts.

"I am called Ferulo. Is there a way I am to be helping you, good sir?" the young Trianian male asked earnestly.

Sparing a glance at Spock, who was engrossed in a deep conversation with Durabi at the opposite end of the stall, he turned his attention to the young salesman in front of him. "You may, young man. I'd like a kilo of P'Mackiee steak, twenty of those shellfish over there," he said, pointing to some large, pink-shelled mollusks, "and two bunches of those big, spiny crab legs."

"A wise choice," Ferulo agreed, hurrying to put together the doctor's order. "These shellfish are called Tass, and are like Earth – how you say – scallop? Best cooked when removed from shell and fried with seasonings. I can remove from them the shells if it pleases you?"

"Sure. That'd be fine."

"The other are called Sulandai and can be thrown into hot water or cooked in shell on open fire," Ferulo informed him, rapidly opening the Tass with a sharp knife. "It will please me if you enjoy our delicacies."

"I'm sure we will. And now to payment. What's the best price you can offer me for these items?"

After several minutes, quite satisfied with the deal he had struck, McCoy loaded his purchase into the anti-grav cart and made his way toward Spock and Durabi, who were in the midst of an animated discussion, the shorter girl pointing excitedly to her left. He caught the tail end of their conversation.

"—can be found at farthest end of market."

"Thank you Durabi, I shall seek them out."

"Please to enjoy your trip on our beautiful planet, Spock of Vulcan."

"Thank you, I shall," Spock answered, placing several bags into the anti-grav cart and nodding sincerely to the young native.

They strolled leisurely among the rows, finding a unique assortment of local fruits and vegetables, cheeses, and even a stall selling hot, homemade Trianian bread. In no time their cart was almost full.

"Where to now, Spock?"

"Durabi informed me that the last stall at the end of this row specializes in Earth proteins. We should be able to purchase a varied selection of Terran meats there."

"Turning carnivore on me, Spock?" McCoy commented, eyes dancing.

A slight shudder passed through the Vulcan; he quickly mastered it, turning a bland look on the doctor. "Merely a thought that perhaps we could procure some authentic Terran fare for you and the captain."

"Now that you mention it, some pork chops and steaks sound like just what the doctor ordered."

"We should also consider purchasing breakfast meats, specifically ham, bacon and sausages."

"Are you out of your Vulcan mind?! That stuff'll kill you sure as shootin'."

"I am fully aware of the health risks presented by salt-cured, oleaginous meats, but Jim does enjoy them, and he is on leave after all." Spock's look was beseeching, at least as much as his Vulcan nature would permit.

McCoy's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Okay, you win Spock. But it's your responsibility to see that Jim burns off the extra fat and calories."

"That was, of course, my intention," Spock replied smoothly.

They had reached the stall in question, McCoy noting with satisfaction the wide range of available products. He was soon engaged in a long, involved transaction with the butcher, purchasing numerous choice cuts of beef, pork and poultry.

Happy with the items he had found, he turned to talk to Spock, only to discover that the Vulcan was gone. He looked around, scanning the stalls within sight, easily able to see over the heads of the shorter Trianians, but there was no sign of the tall Vulcan. He felt the irritation rising. Where the hell is he? Just because he can't stomach meat doesn't mean he had to disappear. When I don't want him around, a tractor beam set on 'rip their outer hull off' couldn't drag him out of the area. But of course, now that I'm ready to go he chooses this moment to vanish into thin air. Damn! Why hadn't he thought to bring his communicator? He took a few tentative steps. What, did he find a journal on the latest version of molecular polarization cells or something?

He set off in search of his companion, tugging the anti-grav cart behind him, when something caught his eye on a shelf behind the counter of a small stand selling off-world goods. After several minutes of intense bartering he struck a deal with the vendor, lifting the heavy bag off the low counter when he was startled by a deep voice behind him.

"Doctor, have you finished your shopping?" Spock asked, his eyes drifting to the sack in McCoy's hand.

"Jeez Spock, you scared the life outta me," he answered, flustered, quickly stuffing his prize in their anti-grav cart, away from the Vulcan's prying eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm all done. Where the hell did you go anyway?" he asked, taking in the bag Spock was holding. "Hopefully that's not full of mnemonic memory circuits," he commented skeptically.

"Merely the last of the ingredients necessary to complete a traditional dish," the Vulcan answered cryptically.

"Well, if it smells as bad as Plomeek Soup, you can count me out."

***

When they returned to their bungalow, Jim was gone.

"Where the hell is he?" McCoy grumbled. "He's not in his room, and didn't see fit to leave us a note. I swear, he's like a little kid – you can't leave him alone for a second. God bless his mother."

Spock, ignoring this tirade, had moved to the window and was scanning the beach. He spotted Kirk swimming in the surf. "He is in the water, Doctor." Spock's voice had an unnatural edge to it.

"What?! Of all the stupid, dumbass things to do. Swimming alone is unsafe to begin with, but swimming alone in the ocean? That's just asking for trouble. Has he ever heard of riptides, man-eating marine life, venomous sea creatures, pounding surf? It's amazing to me that his mother is still sane – she must've had the patience of a saint when he was growing up." McCoy had started for the bank of windows, but Spock was already out the door and down the stairs, not running down the path, but moving quickly, with purpose. That man is going to be the death of me, McCoy thought gloomily.

***

Spock hurried along the wide swath between the dunes, his heart hammering in his side, his eyes never leaving Kirk. He worked to suppress the panic threatening to overwhelm him. As their friendship grew, strengthened by the link rising up between them, he found each instance of Kirk being in danger harder and harder to bear. Prior to leaving the Enterprise he had researched Trianian aquatic life, his mind conjuring up all the hidden dangers the sea presented on this planet. He was particularly concerned about the Peranuma, a type of large, sea-going scorpion which tended to hunt in the shallow water near the shore during the late afternoon hours. They were somewhat rare in these waters but were present nevertheless. While its sting was not fatal, it did cause temporary paralysis. Fish subjected to its venom would simply stop swimming and fall to the bottom where they could be devoured at leisure, but for an air breather it meant death by drowning.

Relief flooded him as he neared the water's edge. His captain was safe. Kirk was about 50 meters off shore, floating lazily on his back, his arms fluttering slowly at his sides, the gentle motion helping to keep him from sinking. Spock seated himself on the compact sand next to the towel Kirk had left there, waiting for his captain to complete his impromptu swim.

He struggled to find his center, to calm his racing heart, to slow his breathing to normal. Once again, he was wracked with shame. This was not how a Vulcan behaved. They approached things calmly, logically, stoically. He was able to achieve this Zen state in most areas of his life, but found that when Jim entered into the equation, all his years of training vanished into the ether. He was unable to be impartial where his captain was concerned.

What was wrong with him? He was behaving disgracefully. When had it happened that this one human had become more important to him than anything else in the universe?

His gaze traveled to his captain, who had finished his swim and was now wading through the breakers toward the shore. The Vulcan rose smoothly to his feet, retrieving Kirk's towel from the ground.

"Spock, what are you doing here?" Kirk asked, grinning broadly, reaching for the towel proffered by his First.

"Jim." Achingly earnest. "It is not safe to swim alone. Surely you realize this?"

Kirk's smile instantly melted away. He mopped at his face before settling his gaze squarely on the Vulcan. "I'm not three you know, and I don't need a babysitter. I can take care of myself." The hazel eyes were angry – with him.

Spock blinked. Kirk's sudden anger was an unexpected, but not unprecedented development. In sickbay after Uriman, both had expressed their desire to shield the other from harm. Apparently his captain had forgotten that. Spock was moved by an unnamed, uncontrollable force to protect his captain at all costs, and as before, Kirk wanted no part of that protection. His mind raced to find a logical reason, a logical explanation to justify his words, his actions.

"As First Officer of the Enterprise it is my duty to ensure the safety of her captain; to prevent him from engaging in activities which could unnecessarily put his life at risk. Would you not concede that swimming alone in unfamiliar waters is an unnecessary risk?" Spock replied evenly, pleased with the steadiness of his voice. An arched eyebrow served to lend emphasis to his words.

As Kirk considered that statement Spock could see most of the anger disappearing along with the water droplets sopped up by the towel in Kirk's hands as he dried his arms and chest.

"Okay Spock, point taken. It's just that when I woke up you two were gone, and the water looked so damn inviting. I couldn't resist." He smiled that roguish smile; the one that always made Spock ready to agree to anything his captain asked of him.

Jim started for the house, looping the towel around his neck and pulling it tight. "So? Any luck shopping?"

"Indeed." Spock fell into step beside his captain. "We were able to locate a large market on the mainland which offered a wide variety of indigenous and non-native goods. Hopefully you will be pleased with our selections."

"I'm with Bones on this one – anything that isn't synthesized is fine in my book. They've managed to get the look of imitation food right, but the taste is another matter altogether." He sighed wistfully. "Of course knowing McCoy, it's probably all salad and health foods. Oh well, I can't have it all I guess…"

They had reached the stairs, Kirk mounting them two at a time, his bare feet leaving moist, slightly sandy footprints on the plasticine decking. Entering the house they found McCoy in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. The captain and XO stepped in to help him.

"This looks fantastic. Thanks, gentlemen. Job well done." Kirk's exuberance was contagious.

"You are welcome, Captain." This from Spock. McCoy however, remained inexplicably silent.

"Sorry Bones, hope it wasn't too much trouble," Kirk offered, grinning apologetically at the mercurial surgeon.

"No. No trouble at all, Captain." The doctor's tone was sharp, sarcastic. He was unloading the bags mechanically, refusing to make eye contact with his commanding officer.

Kirk was at a loss to explain it. He glanced quickly from one man to the other. "Did something happen on the trip? Something I should know about?"

"No Jim, Spock didn't do anything to piss me off."

"All right Bones, let's have it." Kirk's good humor had given way to exasperation.

"Have what?"

"Don't play coy with me, Doctor. Why the cold shoulder all of a sudden? Just what the hell have I done now?"

"Gee. Can't imagine what, Jim." McCoy still had his back to Kirk, thrusting things into the refrigerator with a little more force than necessary. "It's just that the greenest Starfleet recruit is aware of the danger of swimming alone in unfamiliar waters." A weighty pause. "Or did you cut class the day they talked about that?"

Kirk swallowed once, twice, trying mightily to maintain his composure. "No," said through clenched teeth, his voice soft, low, barely restrained, "but I'm a strong swimmer and I know what I'm capable of."

McCoy snorted. "And apparently that includes battling the forces of nature and always coming up the victor." McCoy had turned to face the captain, his eyes angry, cold, hard, as if they'd been dipped in a vat of liquid nitrogen. "Look, it's bad enough that you have to risk your life in the line of duty – battling giant reptiles or loaning your body to super-advanced aliens or some such nonsense. As a starship captain that comes with the territory and as your CMO I'll continue to do everything in my power to put you back together again when necessary. But to risk your life unnecessarily on a whim? As your friend, I find that a little hard to stomach. I've got news for you Jim – there's no amount of medical magic I can work that will bring a man back to shore if he's been dragged out to sea and pulled under the water by a strong current." McCoy was really incensed now, small beads of sweat materializing on his upper lip. "If you insist on taking stupid chances with your life that's your choice, just don't do it on my watch!"

"That's enough, Doctor!" The anger that had dissipated on the beach was back full force. Kirk shouldered past McCoy, coming to stand in the middle of the dining room. He turned to face the irate medico, his cheeks flushed. "I thought you insisted I come on this leave so that I could relax, unwind a little. I was doing just that." Sunlight spilling in through the large window flashed menacingly in the hazel eyes.

"Jesus Jim." McCoy paused, licking his lips. "Whaddya think you're indestructible?! Well I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you're not!" The anger subsided somewhat, giving way to concern. "If you're not worried for yourself, then at least have a little consideration for us. You scared the hell out of us, Jim." McCoy glanced nervously at the Vulcan who had remained frozen in place, his eyes wide as he silently listened to this acrimonious confrontation.

Kirk looked from one to the other before stalking off to his room, casting a particularly frosty glare at Spock, who flinched slightly under its intensity.

"I'm going to take a shower – unless you two gentlemen find that to be too risky an activity. I could slip and break my neck after all," Kirk threw out, turning his back on his two companions. Spock could see the belligerent air in the firmness of his step, the rigid set to the shoulders as his CO made his way down the hall to his room, the door slamming loudly behind him.

His anger still smoldering, the doctor turned it on the Vulcan. "Thanks for your support, Spock – I really appreciated it. So much for our little agreement to try and keep 'Captain Death Wish' from doing himself serious injury – or worse!"

"I had already discussed the illogic of swimming alone with the captain on the beach, and had him convinced not to engage in a repeat of that activity. He was calm and contrite when he entered the house; your verbal attack only succeeded in bringing forth his anger, his innate stubbornness once again," Spock replied smoothly, favoring McCoy with a reproachful look. "You of all people should be aware that a subtle approach works best with Jim."

McCoy's face fell. "Sorry Spock, but I couldn't help it. Sometimes his desire to prove that he's Achilles just gets under my skin." McCoy stomped over to the table, seating himself heavily. "And he has a weak spot too; he just hasn't found it yet."

"Then perhaps it would be in your best interest to acquire a thicker skin," Spock commented, folding himself gracefully into the chair opposite the doctor. "Pushing him away will not help to correct the behavior."

McCoy's eyes blazed. "Don't you start on me, too! You can't tell me you weren't upset when you saw Jim alone out there in the water." Spock didn't answer but met the doctor's gaze steadily, his eyes and face a total blank. "I watched how you practically flew out of here. I've only ever seen you move that fast when trying to keep him from getting himself killed. Like when you threw yourself in front of those poison thorns on Gamma Trianguli VI."

Spock's continued silence was deafening.

McCoy paused, gathering himself, reaching for calm. "It bugs you just as much as it bugs me when he pulls a stupid stunt like this. You're just better at hiding it," he commented grudgingly, a ghost of a smile cast across the table at the indomitable Vulcan.

Spock struggled to keep his face neutral, but McCoy had struck a nerve.

"Aw, who'm I kidding? I'm not mad at you, Spock," he said at last. "It's just that that man," he indicated, waggling a finger in the direction of Kirk's room, "drives me to distraction sometimes."

Unsure of how to respond, Spock rose fluidly to his feet and headed for the kitchen where he began unloading the remainder of the bags from their shopping trip. After several minutes, McCoy joined him.

***

An hour later, Kirk quietly poked his head around the corner. McCoy was seated at the dining room table, a deck of cards spread out before him, thumbing through the pile in his hands.

Spock was curled into one of the large, soft chairs facing the windows, the portable reader balanced easily on his lap. Sunlight was streaming onto the chair from one of the skylights in the roof above, illuminating the Vulcan, making him look for all the world like a tall, lean cherub, despite the pointed ears.

Kirk smiled to himself. Leave it to Spock to find the warmest seat in the house. Clearing his throat noisily, he slipped into the room. Two heads snapped up, neither man speaking, watching him warily. I certainly deserve it, he said to himself. Probably waiting for me to jump down their throats again.

"Sorry gentlemen, I owe you an apology." Neither commented, continuing to stare mutely at him. "Of course you were right," he added, making his way to the table and slipping into a seat across from McCoy. "I know the rules as well as anyone, but unfortunately, following them is not always my strong suit." He tried flashing one of his trademark charming smiles.

McCoy harrumphed loudly, setting his handful of cards on the table.

Kirk tried again. "I guess I've always rebelled somewhat against authority."

"Well Jim, that being the case, I can see why Starfleet was such a good career choice for you." McCoy's sarcasm was almost palpable.

Kirk winced slightly at that – it stung! Well, what did you expect? Praise and adulation? It's your own damn fault for having such a short fuse. He continued on with his litany. "You know, when I was little and mom told me not to do something because it was too dangerous, it just made me want to do it more."

McCoy whipped his head around, locking eyes with Spock. "See? What did I tell you?" he said in a whisper pitched for Vulcan ears alone.

Kirk paused, pursing his lips and letting out a sigh before continuing. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I know you only had my best interests at heart." He glanced at each of his friends in turn. "I promise, no more swimming without at least one of you on the beach with me, okay? Does that fill your prescription, Doctor?"

He was relieved when a grin split McCoy's face, and Spock slumped noticeably in his chair, the tension leaving his shoulders.

"Sorry Jim. I overreacted, too," McCoy said contritely. "It's just that…"

Kirk's intuition kicked in with an almost audible click. "Just what, Bones?"

McCoy let out a labored breath. "When I was eight, I watched my best friend and his daddy drown, caught in a strong undertow."

"I'm sorry, Bones – I had no idea." Sincerely. "Want to talk about it?" he asked, scanning the doctor's face.

"Not really. It's not a pleasant memory. Suffice it to say that Mr. Tatum, a big man and an accomplished swimmer, died trying to rescue his only son, Forrest." McCoy paused, his eyes introspective for a moment. "It took me a long time before I was able to enjoy being at the beach again." He locked eyes with Kirk. "I'm really not looking to add to that memory, okay?"

"Enough said." And now I certainly understand the reaction, Kirk added to himself. McCoy looked as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Let's put it behind us," Kirk said sincerely. The doctor nodded, and the captain grinned in response.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm starved," McCoy announced, smoothly changing the subject. He rose to his feet and headed for the kitchen.

"You took the words right outta my mouth, Bones," Kirk agreed, following closely on his heels. "What's for dinner?"