A/N: This chapter is short but will hopefully clear up a few things. Also, I am not a neurologist or any kind of physician. I am a writer of fan fiction (emphasis on the fiction). Please keep that in mind as you read.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3

USS Enterprise, Stardate 2261.37, 2025 hours. She walked away from sickbay looking positively grim, a report clutched tight to her chest, and headed for her quarters. Rather unwittingly Nyota got off on Deck 9 instead of Deck 10 and now found herself staring longingly at the door to Spock's quarters.

Her quarters. Formerly theirs.

Len told her he hadn't left his room or eaten a thing all day; he'd checked the logs twice just to make sure. She knew Spock could go for long stretches of time without eating but he'd lost 5.5 kilograms in the last week just trying to heal; denying himself now simply wasn't healthy. She also knew he'd locked himself away so he could privately deal with his grief without fear of embarrassing himself in front of his human colleagues. Nyota wished she could go in there and hold him, tell him everything would be alright and make him take better care of himself but she no longer had the right; she'd forfeited it when she conspired with Kirk and McCoy to keep him in the dark.

And if anything Spock would find her visit an unwelcome intrusion on his mourning.

Her thoughts could not have been more somber when the sound of cheery whistling heralded down the hall ahead of the Captain who came carrying a chess board in his hands. He stopped short at the sight of her standing alone by the door.

"Hey."

"Hey." He tried to move past her to press the door chime.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Kirk furrowed his brow. "I'm going to play a round of chess with Spock."

Oh no. No, no, no. If she thought a visit from her would be unwelcome than one from him would be outright unwanted—only Spock would never say it to his face because he was the captain.

Nyota launched a protest on his behalf. "I really don't think that's such a good idea…"

"Uhura, he's an amnesiac, not an invalid." She still refused to budge. "Come on, I thought you of all people would think this was a good idea! It'll get those neuron things Bones' has been going on about firing, remember?"

As if she could forget. "Don't tiptoe around him but for Heaven's sakes don't go purposely upsettin' him either!" Len instructed, giving Jim a pointed look. "We gotta ease him back into his routine. He's still perfectly capable of doin' his job, we just have to get the ol' neurons firin' again, so treat him like you normally would. And remember, this is as strange for him as it is for us so just go with the flow. Follow his lead, not the other way around."

She shot daggers at him for making her sound as if she didn't want what was best for Spock. "He only just got out of sickbay! And you heard Len too, he said we shouldn't tax him!"

"He also said to treat him normally and every Wednesday night Spock and I play chess. That's normal."

Jim straightened in defiance and Nyota realized she had only 2 options: aggravate herself to the point of no return trying to mount a useless defense or just give in. Glaring at him she said, "Fine. But don't keep him up too late, ok? And try and get him to eat something while you play; Len says he hasn't had anything all day." He grinned that obnoxious, charming grin and she resisted the urge to punch him in the arm.

"Yes, Mom."

He ducked away just as she pulled back, all thoughts of insubordination going right out the airlock, and rang the chime that forced her to move along.

Spock had been reluctant to admit him (and frankly, Jim couldn't blame him) but soon they were settled at the kitchen table with the chess board between them and a plate of veggies and dip at their side. Except for the lack of their normal lively debates it was almost like old times.

Jim bit into his carrot with an overloud loud crunch before starting up another joke. "Ok, so tell me if you've heard this one before. A priest, a rabbi and an imam walk into a bar…"

"To walk into a bar would be illogical."

Jim's jaw dropped; then he doubled over with a belly laugh so deep he thought his gut would cramp. Looks like Bones was right about a thing or two after all: shades of the old Spock were returning. "You DO remember this one!"

"Negative; I was merely making an observation. To walk into a bar when one is capable of avoiding the obstacle in question is illogical."

The laughter died instantly. "Oh." He concentrated hard on his remaining pieces. Recollecting an old play Jim picked up a knight to be sacrificed to his First's bishop. A few rapid moves later and Spock sidestepped the trap he'd set leaving Jim to rethink his strategy yet again. The timer at his elbow ticked on.

Maybe Uhura was right, maybe this was a bad idea. Too much too soon and all that.

"Captain?"

His eyes never left the board. "Yes?"

"You were attempting the Vluhn of Tilek* maneuver a moment ago, were you not?"

"Yes." When his First didn't reply he glanced up and caught the curious lift of his friend's brow. "Does that surprise you?"

"It is not a commonly known strategy outside of Vulcan. Might I inquire as to who instructed you in this technique?"

Well if the answer wasn't as plain as the nose on his face. Spock was either oblivious or just obtuse. "You taught me, Spock," he informed him. The breach in command etiquette almost made the other man flinch. "You taught me right here at this very table a little over two years ago."

Spock looked as if he was casting about for the right words but couldn't find them; meanwhile Jim idly picked up a pawn and twirled it about in his fingers.

"I highly doubt I would endeavor to impart the Vluhn of Tilek technique to just anyone," the Commander finally settled on saying at last.

He grinned and waggled his brow. "Well I'm not just anyone." A quick look at the board showed he could capture Spock's Queen in five moves—if he was lucky.

"Elaborate."

Kirk sighed. Leave it to Spock never to make things easy.

"I'm the youngest Captain Starfleet's ever had," he began slowly, "And we were five months out into our mission. Back then I was feeling pretty good. I hadn't screwed up, hadn't gotten us into any interstellar fights, hadn't lost any crew…"

"You were feeling self-confident," Spock uncharacteristically butted in.

Jim frowned. It wasn't as simple as all that. For the first time in his life the name James Tiberius Kirk actually meant something in it's own right, it wasn't just tacked on as an afterthought to his father's heroics; he had his own worth for a change. And between all the Federation accolades, his rapid promotion, and his heretofore spotless track record Jim had been practically drunk giddy with power.

But he couldn't explain all that to Spock; he wouldn't even know where to begin. "I was cocky," he admitted. "And it cost a man his life."

One minute they were talking chess, the next they were talking about one of his greatest failures since taking command. How would dredging up this painful part of his past really help Spock remember his? A quick look at his First's carefully schooled features didn't give him an answer but Jim couldn't rationalize not telling him the tale.

"We were in orbit around Erabaxx and received permission from the local government to send down a party to study the plant life. You, me, Sulu, and Bones—I mean, Dr. McCoy—went down, along with a security team and members of both the science and botany labs. Chuck Grimes was an ensign on the security force; I didn't know him well, just from seeing him around the Academy and on-board ship from time to time, but I knew who he was.

"Well when we spoke with Erabaxxian officials they neglected to tell us there were rebel forces on the ground trying to topple their government—and apparently pretty violently too. They called themselves the Therosians and hid out in the woods where we were conducting our scans. When they saw us materialize they thought we were off-world assassins hired to kill them.

"Grimes was with his team when they attacked. I was on the other side of the grid but I heard the commotion and we all ran over to find out what was going on. The rebels surprised us but we were able to mount a good defense. Grimes took a hit to the arm, a flesh wound, nothing a dermal regen couldn't fix. I was calling Scotty for an emergency beam up when one of 'em hidden up in a tree shot Grimes right between the eyes. He was standing right next to me." Jim paused and took a sip of his water wishing hard that it was something stronger. "Bones told me he was dead before he hit the ground—not that it helped. Dead is dead."

He took a long, deep breath. This was the hardest part of command, losing members of your crew. Whether they were lost through some unfortunate accident or a hostile encounter dealing with each death never got any easier.

"You could not have predicted the appearance of the Therosians nor of their reaction to our presence, therefore you could not have predicted Ensign Grimes' death. Without all the facts in hand these events were beyond your control."

"So I've been told." He didn't need to remind Spock that he was the one who'd told him. "But if I wasn't so busy priding myself on being such a great captain I might've taken the time to look at the situation on Erabaxx a little more closely. There were hints of rebellion that I ignored and if I hadn't Grimes might still be alive."

There was a long pause as Spock considered the board. Jim had been so caught up in telling his story he almost forgot there was a game. "There is a saying on Vulcan. 'Kaiidth'," he said slowly. "Simply translated, it means 'What is, is'. One cannot change the past. The important lesson is that you have learned from your oversight on Erabaxx and have henceforward done your best to prevent other untimely deaths in the line of duty." It was as he spoke that understanding also dawned in Spock's oh-so-human eyes.

The crux of the Vluhn of Tilek maneuver was not the damage it could do to your opponent—although substantial, Spock once explained—but also what it did for you. The Vluhn of Tilek was a great teacher. Centuries before, on both Earth and Vulcan when both races regularly went to war, drums were an integral part of the battlefield. They were used to keep soldiers in line, rally them together and ensure a safe retreat. A soldier learned quickly that he had to be mindful of the drummer's beat; even in the heat of the moment you had to listen for it and know it as if it were your second heartbeat…or else.

That was the lesson Spock taught him that night and for many nights thereafter as he hammered the Vluhn of Tilek home: Stop. Look. Be Patient. Know when to attack, defend, retreat. Pay attention. Keep track of the beat.

Spock took the news in stride but didn't speak much after that. At the end of the night he simply wiped the floor with him before excusing himself to go meditate some more.

Jim was glad some things stayed the same.

But as he tucked the board under his arm he thought about the other game they'd been playing, one where he tested the limits of his relationship with the new Spock while the Commander fleshed out the friendship between them. This game had more minefields than the one on the chess board and the end result was murky. As he left Jim couldn't decide whether he'd won, lost or drawn.

U.S.S. Enterprise, Stardate 2261.42, 1458 hours. It'd been an interesting last couple of days to say the least; then again life aboard the Enterprise was never dull to begin with, especially not with Kirk in charge. But ever since the man woke up Len had been keeping a close eye on Spock and an even closer one on Nyota and in his opinion neither was adjusting well.

For starters, Spock hadn't gained back even a fraction of the weight he'd lost during his illness and he still refused to leave his quarters unless it was on a mandated visit to the medical bay. If he were a human McCoy would say he was depressed—and being half-human he figured he might not be too far off the mark—but when the Commander came in he coolly informed the doctor that he was spending the bulk of his time either in meditation or research. As Spock liked to remind him, he had 3.75068 years' worth of logs and away missions to catch up on.

All that research wasn't helpin' him recuperate any better either, or so he'd vainly countered. Fresh, non-replicated food, exercise and interactions with the crew would. It was only with the threat of extending his inactive duty status that he was able to wrangle a promise from the Vulcan that he would 'endeavor to take better care of his physical self' in the first place.

And Nyota wasn't any better—hell, he had to watch her with both eyes because unlike her husband she resorted to outright subterfuge. She didn't think he saw her in the Mess, ordering meals only to push the food around on her plate, or the way her eyes always seemed to be red-rimmed with dark circles. Since Spock woke up she'd taken to working double shifts just to keep herself occupied and he knew that wasn't healthy. He was going to have to have another talk with Jim. If they had to order her to rest…well, she'd be plenty pissed with the lot of them. Might as well give him a head's up.

It was ironic, really. Spock was trying so hard to remember while Nyota was trying so hard to forget. The whole damn situation was playing on Len's very last nerve and he wished to hell they'd never heard of Anguillida.

He looked down at the PADD in his hands and reviewed Spock's and Marks' latest cognitive test results. The Lieutenant had been up for ten days and the Commander for five yet their scores weren't anywhere near where they should've been. Marks' numbers seemed to be recovering incrementally while Spock's had barely moved at all.

Len turned on his heel and rushed back into the lab, ignoring the crewmen cowering by the door reporting for their physicals.

"You called me in here because Spock doesn't have perfect recall?" Jim whined. It'd taken him the better half of a day with his head bent over a microscope for Len to find the answer he'd been looking for and when he did he plucked his friend straight out of the dinner line to share his discovery.

"Stop being such an infant and listen," he grumbled back. "Along with everythin' else, we've been testing both Marks and Spock's short-term memories daily and comparin' them to the baseline results taken before we left Earth." Here he pulled up the charts and placed them side-by-side on the view screen mounted to his wall. "The blue lines are pre-Anguillida levels and red lines are post."

"So what am I lookin' at here, Bones?"

Len resisted the urge to palm-smack his own forehead at Jim's juvenile tone. He pointed to the charts. "Marks' scores are gettin' better. Spock's aren't."

"Ok…" The kid got up and stood beside him to stare at the screen. "But he's been up longer than Spock has. Isn't that kind of to be expected? Cut the man some slack, he'll catch up."

"Jim, you're not listening! He shouldn't have to catch up. Spock's Vulcan; even with the amnesia his recall of the last five days should be perfect and yet…well here, listen for yourself." Len called up the recordings of each session and they both listened as Spock's voice filled the room, reciting a random list of common household items. "This was on Friday," he explained. "M'Benga had him read the twenty items out loud and commit them to memory." He fast-forwarded through the recording, rolling his eyes as the Captain chuckled at the high-pitched, super-fast talking. Really, he might as well have been running a daycare center instead of a Federation sickbay. "And here is Spock reciting the list back on Monday."

The two men listened again as the Commander's steady monotone filled the air. Jim turned to look at him, brow crinkled in confusion. "I thought you just said there were twenty items on the list? He only rattled off seventeen."

"I know." Now he gets it. McCoy strode back over to his desk and picked up another PADD. "He forgot three—and it isn't the first time it's happened. Spock's been forgetting things every single day he's been back in here. They're little things, mind you, but it's a big deal because it's Spock that's forgetting them; and the worst part is he doesn't even realize he is forgetting them. So that got me to thinking that whatever was done to them down on Anguillida might've been done on the chemical level."

Len threw up a slide he'd been working on all afternoon amidst Jim's renewed "But I thought we already looked into that?" whine.

"You see, our scans show that their brains are intact and the memories are there, but their levels of neurotransmitters are practically non-existent; and while their bodies should be producin' replacements they're not. Or rather they are, but they're producin' so few as to practically cancel out the loss. What they have now is barely gettin' them through the day-to-day." He threw up another scan and another slide. "It's like the neurotransmitters have been sucked right out of their heads—and who knows, that's just what might've happened—but the same procedure simultaneously inhibited the natural production of new ones. It explains why they're havin' trouble formin' new memories and still can't access the old ones, and until we get these levels stabilized and most likely increased there'll always be that void."

Jim furrowed his brow and examined the results, occasionally touching the screen and scrolling through readouts of data. "I think I follow you, but…"

"But what?"

The kid paused and pointed to the test scores on the screen. "If they are reproducing neurotransmitters, however slowly, why is Spock's perfect recall still on the fritz?"

Len grinned in spite of himself and began pulling up more charts. "I thought you'd never ask." He set the anonymous scan off to one side and Spock's alongside it. The first scan showed pockets of color while the second was lit up like the night sky on the Fourth of July. "This is a shot of the neural connections in a young, adult, human male of below-average-or-so intelligence, and this is the same shot of a young, adult, half-human half-Vulcan male of better-than-average intelligence." Jim still looked lost. "Ok, how about this: picture a jar full of marbles."

"Ha!"

Juvenille. Granted, his word choice could have been better but the metaphor was apt. "The jar of marbles is the human brain. There's some sifting, some forgetfulness, but nothing a person can't cope with day-to-day. Now add some pebbles into the jar to fill the cracks, and add some sand on top of that. No sifting, no forgetfulness. That's a Vulcan brain. Spock's got his marbles and pebbles but not the sand and that's why he's falling short in all his cognitive tests."

Suddenly the joke wasn't so funny anymore and Jim's face fell. "Oh."

"Exactly."

The captain studied the results some more, nodding along thoughtfully until he took a closer look at the human brain image displayed. In spite of himself and the seriousness of the situation McCoy broke out into a rare, full blown smile.

"These are my brain scans, aren't they?"

"Like I said, below average."

* Vluhn of Tilek = Tilek's Drum. Chess maneuver was made up by yours truly while the Vulcan wording came from the Vulcan Language Dictionary on-line (aka the VLD).