"So I stayed on the Bridge for a while and then I came down here," Jim finished. He paused and drained the last of the Kentucky bourbon out of the glass McCoy had provided him. He kept his eyes on the floor a moment longer and then looked up to find blazing blue shock looking back at him.

"My God," McCoy burst out, "If anyone else had told me this I'd say they were crazy!"

"Well, I'm not crazy," Jim said, reaching for the bottle of Bourbon and noting to himself that it had been full when they started, "If it makes you feel better, Spock is telling Daphne the same story, probably a lot faster than I just told you."

"Mind meld," McCoy grunted, "He wouldn't lie to her and he certainly can't lie to her that way."

There was a long silence as McCoy tried to take in the incredible tale Jim had just told him. Jim endured it as long as he could and then said,

"What are you thinking?"

"Spock," McCoy grumbled, shaking his head, "He's a goddam walking miracle and if you tell him I said that, I'll call you a liar."

Jim smiled in a misty way. "I won't tell him," he said, softly. "But you're right. I'm not sure I could have survived it without him." He sat back and stared at the floor for a while. "He brought us back almost to the milisecond of when he had been transported forward; and he reacted more quickly that I did. I think we missed seeing ourselves by a breath. Then he had that device back on board the wreck and was jettisoning it before I could even form a thought. I didn't know Vulcans could move that fast. But that's what happened and only Spock and I will ever remember it."

"Well," McCoy said, "That's probably for the best. Jim, I know why you told me. That's not something you can keep inside. But why did Spock tell Daphne?"

Jim paused to take a drink, "He said he would never be able to keep it from her, that she would always know he was hiding something. Apparently she has become very good at ferreting out his 'untold truths.' "

"Good for her," McCoy said, "He needs someone besides just me to keep him off balance."

"He was devastated by her loss," Jim said, "I'd never seen him like that before. But even then I think he was already formulating the theory of how to get us back. He was too focused on something, especially by the time we found you. It was the conversation with the invaders that you managed to record that solidified it for him. Everyone of you did something that helped us take one more step closer to an answer, even the ones who died just buying time for the Translator to work out their language. I want to give my entire crew commendations for actions they never have to take. I'm proud of them for reasons I can't ever tell them. I have to figure out a way to report an alien race to Star Fleet with no way to tell them how I know about it. They may not believe the truth. I'm not sure I even want to talk about it to anyone, ever again."

"I think telling StarFleet is a good way to get the Enterprise taken away from you and finding yourself locked up for a psychological evaluation, even with your logical second in command swearing to every word of it," McCoy observed. His tone changed from 'friend and confidant' to 'doctor giving an order.' "Look, Jim, you're exhausted. You haven't slept or eaten or had anything to drink except alcohol in hours. You can't make any decisions now. We're on our way to a StarBase. Give the whole crew as much shore leave as you can and get out there with them yourself. It seems to me you have lots of time before you have to tell anyone else what happened, if you ever do."

"Time," Jim said, almost to himself. "We've traveled through it before but I don't think I will ever look at it exactly the same way again. I know Spock regrets the loss of that cylinder. He wanted to study it further. But it's better off lost."

McCoy grunted, "I have to agree with that. Spock has my sympathies about the loss to scientific knowledge, but it doesn't sound like something we're quite ready to have."

A smile pulled at the corners of Kirk's mouth. "Can I tell him you sympathize with him?" he asked.

"No," the doctor said firmly.

"Come on, Bones, lighten up," Jim urged gently, "I was with him on the Bridge when you answered my hail. No matter what he says, he was... relieved."

McCoy grunted again and looked thoughtfully at the floor. He wasn't sure how he would have endured what Kirk and Spock had just been through. How would he have coped with Spock's death? With finding Kirk's body? After four years he had reached a point where he couldn't bear to lose either of them; and he already considered death a personal enemy.

He refilled his glass and Jim's and then raised his in a salute.

"Spock," he said.

Jim nodded. "Spock;" and they both drank.

The comm unit on his desk buzzed and Daphne stirred restlessly. Spock crossed the short distance to answer it, quickly.

"Spock," he said.

"McCoy," came the reply.

There was a long, heavy silence and Spock wondered again why it seemed so easy to argue with McCoy and never to say the things that mattered.

"Jim told you what happened?" he asked, finally.

"Yes," McCoy answered.

"Where is he now?"

"I made him eat something and sent him back to his quarters with strict orders to rest. If he took what I gave him, he's asleep."

"Good," Spock said, shortly.

"You told Daphne?"

"Yes."

"And she is?"

"Sleeping."

Silence pulsed between them again. Then McCoy asked, "What about you? Are you all right?"

Spock stopped himself just before giving a glib reply. McCoy was asking sincerely. He deserved a sincere answer.

"I need to rest, and meditate."

There was a grunt of surprise across the comm channel, as if even McCoy had been expecting the glib retort instead of an answer.

"Then let me add food to that, and that's my prescription. We're on are way to a starbase, not an emergency and Jim left Sulu in command on the Bridge."

Spock lifted an eyebrow but kept that reaction to himself. McCoy went on, "So no one needs you for a while. You just stay in your quarters with your wife and put out the 'do not disturb sign.'"

"The Enterprise does not have such signs, Doctor," Spock observed.

"You know what I mean," McCoy grumbled, sounding more like he usually did. There was a pause, then, "Spock?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you... for getting back. McCoy out."

Spock heard the sound of the channel closing before he could make any kind of reply. He stood quietly for a moment, thinking. Daphne stirred again, which drew his attention, but not because it was anything unusual for her to move in her sleep. Even on a peaceful night Daphne slept like a lematya with a knot tied in its tail. He watched her now only because he was grateful to be able to do so. Once she had quieted again he sat down at the desk and turned on the computer station. He found the dusty and now rather battered tricorder he had retrieved from the Cargo Bay and pulled the disc from it.

He held the disc in his fingers for a moment, considering. It contained the record of eveything they had gone through, including the extensive file on the alien's language and technologies. It was proof if they ever needed it. It might be the difference between war and peace if they encountered that race again. Coming to a decision he slipped it into the opening on the main computer and encrypted a file for the eyes of the Captain and First Officer only. He watched it begin to download and began to realize that the last few days were catching up to him. As he had told the Captain, neither of them was indestructable. The computer didn't need him to finish its work

Spock stood and dimmed the lights. Quietly he made his way to the section of his quarters that held his meditation pad and his bed. He studied the pad for a moment, but he had told McCoy he needed to rest and meditate and it seemed it really would have to be in that order. His bed at the moment was a tangle of limbs, blond hair and red sheets.

As he gently worked the sheets out from under and around his wife he reflected that there had once been a time in his life when his bed had always been neatly made and waiting for him. Those days had ended apparently... But he found he didn't mind. Daphne tossed again and murmured a protest but settled down as he carefully lowered the sheets again. He tossed his robe aside and slipped in beside her. He started to fit his body around hers but she rolled over to face him. Curling up in a ball she rested her lower legs against his thighs and her head against his chest. Her arms, she tucked in close, laying her open hands on his ribs.

Perhaps, he thought, he had finally endured something that had tested his limits. At the moment, he was content to hold her. He wrapped a hand lightly around her wrist, where her pulse beat - human slow but strong and steady against his palm- and let his consciousness fade into sleep to the rhythm of that lullaby.