To George's displeasure and almost an insult to his optimism, Spock turns out to be right. The initial interrogation of the witnesses provides nothing but the same story Morrison had already presented to Robau. Leahey had seemed fine when he went on shift, joking and laughing with the other members of Engineering as he usually did, and was found slumped over his panel in the morning.

George stares at the transcripts of the interviews he and Spock had completed that morning, which included both the Enterprise and Kelvin crews, and resists the urge to sigh loudly. He feels arms curl around his stomach and a chin rest on his shoulder. Winona nibbles on his ear. "You're working too hard."

"A man was killed, 'Nona. It's my job to figure out why."

He can almost feel her roll her eyes. "The other doctor said it wasn't murder, and it isn't just your job. You're going to make yourself sick stressing out over this."

He spins around in his chair. "You're one to talk. I take it you worked this afternoon."

Her jaw sets in a firm line as she glares at him. "I'm fully capable of working, George. I'm not disabled."

They have gone over this argument so many times it's almost annoying. The pregnancy wasn't supposed to be high risk, so Winona has not yet begun to "take things easy". After losing their second child, and almost losing this one, George almost banned her from work completely. He let her keep her job, though, because she works in medical - the doctors have been keeping a close eye on her. Still, George thinks she should take things a little easier than she has been.

She gives up, sitting across from him at the small table in their tiny cabin, and takes his PADD from him. "You think the crew of this other ship might have been involved in his death?"

"No idea," George says, drumming his fingers along the table. "I guess I would feel better about them if this Morrison guy didn't act so damn suspicious."

Winona snorts. "Morrison?"

"Yeah." A thought strikes George. ". . . Morrison was your maiden name."

"Mmhmm." Winona doesn't seem concerned with this revelation. "Lots of people have the last name Morrison."

"Yeah, but James Morrison? What if . . . What if I'm like, meeting your father in the past?" Time travel isn't completely unheard of for officers of Starfleet.

"George, Dad never traveled in space. You know that."

Yes, he knows that, but it doesn't make him feel any better.

He focuses at the task at hand, going through the interviews and trying to pick out little tidbits of information that might be relevant. A copy of the autopsy sits on his desk as well, although he understood very little beyond "cardiac arrest". "Leahey had never been presented for heart problems, had he?"

Winona cocks her head to the side. "Not that I'm aware. Even if he had, George, you know I couldn't tell you."

"I know, but I thought . . . I just keep hoping something is eventually going to make sense."

Winona has other things on her mind than murder mysteries and he allows himself to be dragged back to the bed without further complaints. It's nice just to allow himself to be lost in her and think of nothing else, if only for a few minutes. Afterward, she curls next to him, pecking little kisses against his shoulder. George pulls her closer and kisses the top of her hair. He closes his eyes and waits for sleep.

Sleep only takes a few minutes.

Spock is waiting for him when he arrives in the Kelvin conference room. He is pacing, arms crossed behind his back, and he turns to look at George when he enters. "There has been another death."

"Another? Who?"

"Ensign Geoff Minson, aged twenty years. He was found dead in his quarters after he failed to show for his post this morning."

George lets out a long whistle. "Jesus. This wasn't just a random occurrence."

"I am afraid not."

He waits a beat before asking. "Heart attack?"

"Unsure." Spock replies, but the tension in his face shows more than he is letting on. "Doctor McCoy is performing the autopsy as we speak."

"In your professional opinion . . . Was this similar to the other death?"

"Very. Both were men who seemed to be in good healthy."

"Wonderful," George says sarcastically. "One of them couldn't do us a favor and be . . . I dunno, smashed upside the head?"

Spock didn't find the situation humorous, and he told George just that. "The Captain is very upset with the loss of life aboard his ship, as he always is. He doesn't take situations like this lightly."

The message Spock was sending was loud and clear, and George could almost take offense to it. Instead, he simply nods and crosses his arms behind his back as well. Spock gazes at him intently, but neither makes a move to actually speak. Finally, Spock inhales a breath.

"If you would like to view the body after the autopsy, I assume Doctor McCoy would be glad to let us in. It is . . . Critical to the investigation."

"I'm actually allowed aboard your ship?"

Spock hesitates. "I will clear it with my Captain."

There is nothing more that needs to be said on the matter. Spock assures him he will let him know the moment McCoy is done with the autopsy and the body is ready for viewing. George barely reaches his quarters when the call comes. Spock informs him there will be a shutting waiting for him to take him aboard the Enterprise.

Winona looks slightly amused. "He doesn't give you a break, does he?"

"None. He also thinks I'm an idiot."

She lets out a little chuckle. "George, he's a Vulcan. They usually do think humans are idiots."

"Not all," George argues. "That ambassador married the human teacher a few years ago. I think they even have a son." He gives her a small kiss. "I'll be back. Again. Hopefully with a fully investigated murder this time."

George is mildly stunned the first time he steps aboard the Enterprise. He takes a few seconds to just look and be amazed at her beauty. This is the kind of ship someone would kill to be aboard. The thought brings his original purpose back to his mind, and George sets off in the general direction of medical bay.

Morrison, Robau, Spock, and McCoy are already crowding around the bed when George arrives. The look on Robau's face all but stops George in his tracks - it is one of the few times in his career he has honestly seen his captain scared, and that thought alone sends shivers down his spine.

"What happened?" he asks.

"We had another death," Morrison says. His voice is tight and controlled. "Ensign Geoff Minson was found dead in his cabin earlier this afternoon. Our Chief Engineer alerted me to the matter when Minson didn't show up for work on time - something that was highly unusual for him."

"The same killer?"

"The same cause of death," Spock corrects. "But yes, I believe we have the killer in our presence."
George is confused, furrowing his eyebrows together. He glances at the figure on the bed. The body is small, compact, and almost reptilian in appearance. "This is Ensign Minson?"

"No," McCoy says sharply. "This is what was posing is Geoff Minson, and has been for God only knows how long."

"A shapeshifter?" George breathes, things finally starting to make sense. "I knew they existed, but how? And why would it murder Leahey?"

"I do not believe it intended to kill Lt. Leahey," Spock speaks up, standing as far away as he can from the figure on the bed, without completely avoiding it altogether. "It is my belief Leahey was simply an opportunity the shapeshifter could not resist - a new ship with which to cause trouble. And judging by the circumstances of which I am assume they are aware . . ." Spock trails off, before clearing his throat. "Most likely he tried to take over Leahey's body, which is common when they first take a new personality. The body rejected the invasion, and sent the young man into cardiac arrest. That was how we found him."

"That explains Leahey, but what about Minson?"

"Years of keeping one body is highly uncommon for them. The body eventually couldn't handle the invasion any longer."

Robau groans and pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Why would he want the Kelvin? We aren't anything special."

"I assume he simply could not pass up the opportunity to cause trouble."

Morrison speaks up for the first time since George entered the room. "Minson's reports and behaviors have never had any indication he was anything other than who he said he was."

"Which proves the impostor was talented at his work." Spock moves closer to Morrison and lowers his voice, speaking in a soft, almost comforting tone. "Captain, Minson has been dead for a long while. It is possible neither of us knew the actual Geoff Minson."

"I did," Morrison snaps. "He was one of my students in my hand-to-hand combat classes." Morrison's eyes are clouded in fury as he turns to his medical officer and snaps. "Bones, is there a way people can be tested for this sort of thing? To make sure they really are . . . human?"

McCoy blinks at him. "It's possible, but it would take ages to do. Especially with the number of people we have aboard."

"I want it done."

"Jim -"

"I want it done, Doctor."

McCoy's jaw sets as he glares at Morrison, and he takes a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

Morrison takes one long look at the figure on the bed before he all but stomps out of the room. Robau is engaged in a conversation with Spock, and McCoy is busy looking pissed off at his current orders George slips out of the medical bay and looks around, hoping he hasn't already lost Morrison. He sees him in the hallway, headed toward the turbo lift, and he dashes toward him. "Morrison!"

The man pauses for a second, before turning slowly and giving George a confused look. ". . .Yes?"

"I . . . I'm sorry." George blurts out, unsure what he should say now that he has Morrison's attention.

Morrison doesn't seem bothered, only confused, and George realizes he only has seconds before he loses the man's interest. "Do you want to have dinner?"

Morrison looks amused. "Mr. Kirk, you're a married man."

George feels himself flush. "That wasn't what I meant. As a thank you, for helping out as much as you did."

The younger man hesitates, as if debating something with himself. He gives a shrug. "Give me a few minutes to clean up, and I'll meet you in the mess hall?"

George nods his agreement. Morrison is walking toward the turbo lift when something dawns on him.

George never told Morrison he was married.

Dinner is quiet, and George is beginning to wonder if this was a bad idea. Morrison is silent, focusing on his dinner rather than the half-hearted conversation they keep attempting. It is almost fascinating to watch the him eat, with the way he divides up his dinner into sections, and then slowly begins picking them apart in order. He always finishes what he can on one plate, and goes back for seconds.
There are never any leftovers.

George is startled out of his internal monologue when Morrison clears his throat.

"Not that I mind having dinner with fellow Starfleet officers," he says, after swallowing a mouthful of food. "But was there a particular reason you asked me to dinner?"

'How do you answer that question?' George thinks, and he taps his foot against his leg in thought. "I'm attracted to you." He blurts this without thinking, then flushes as the double meaning slams back at him. Morrison is grinning and looks as though he is trying to hold back a laugh. George flushes deeply, and rolls his eyes. "Not attracted to you, more like drawn to you. You're very charismatic."

Morrison finally lets out that laugh and stabs a piece of lettuce with his fork. "I knew what you meant. I'm drawn to you as well, but I knew it would be."

The statement makes George frown. "You knew you would be? You've never met me before in your life."

"No," Morrison agrees, almost sadly. "No, I haven't."

"Things don't add up. You talk to my crew, my captain, myself like you know us. You claim to have never laid foot on the Kelvin, but you knew exactly where everything was located. And you know I'm married. I never remember telling you that."

"You never did."

"Then how the hell did you know?"

Morrison gives him a look and rolls his eyes. "For one, your wedding ring."

George rubs the ring on his left finger, and feels like a fool. He swallows. "That still doesn't explain the other things. Since your crew is leaving in a few hours, and we're unlikely to see each other again, you want to tell me what is going on?"

For the first time, Morrison hesitates. "Do I want to tell you? Yes. Should I? Absolutely not. I'm risking the chance of screwing up the time line further by even talking to you. If I'm not careful, there's a good chance I won't even be born."

"Time line. So, we're talking about time travel here?"

Another pause, and then, "Yes."

Okay, George can handle that. He's heard of stranger things happening. "Are you from the past?"
"Future."

"You have the same name as my father in law," George says, grabbing his glass of water. The water trickles down his hand and he realizes he's shaking.

"I know. I did that intentionally. Morrison was the first name that popped into my head when I was trying to come up with one, and I thought why not? It fits, seeing as I'm named after the man."

"So Morrison isn't your real name. What is?"

'Morrison' gives the longest pause yet, before he takes a deep breath. "Jim Kirk. My full name is James Tiberius Kirk."

There's a moment where George can't breathe, and he takes this information in tiny increments. He blinks at him, swallowing and cocking his head. "If your name is Kirk, that means you're in the Kirk family, and that would make you . . . "

"Your son." 'Morrison's' voice is soft. "That would make me your son."

"You're obviously not George Samuel."

"Nah, Sam's a couple years older than me. I'm your youngest son."

A thought strikes him. "You're the one she's carrying."

"I might be."

George pins him with his best 'fatherly' glare. "Jim."

The kid snorts, and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "You have to understand my position. I could be in some serious shit for talking with you like this. I had to take my chance, though. I couldn't just let you go without letting you know who I am. Without . . . Hoping."
The way he talks, it doesn't sit right with George. "You talk like you don't even know me. Don't tell me I'm an absent father."

"Not by your own choice." Morri—, no, Jim's voice is getting lower with every word. "If you were anything like the parent you are to Sam, I'm sure we would have had a great relationship. God, Mom always said we were alike, and I finally see what she means. This is beyond surreal for me."
What Jim is hinting at finally sinks in.

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

The silence is enough of an answer for George.

"How?"

A sad smile crosses Jim's face, and George's defense go up immediately. Before Jim can say anything, he cuts in. "Jut tell me it wasn't because I did something stupid, like driving off a quarry in an act of testosterone, or tripping over the family pigs. At least tell me I died with dignity."

"You die a hero."

The complete and utter sincerity in Jim's voice leaves no doubt for George at all. The emotion from the younger man hits him hard, and he has to swallow the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat. "I . . .When? How?"

The kid shakes his head again, giving him a sad smile. "Spoilers." Jim cocks his head to the side, as if debating what he should (or should not) say next. "You save hundreds of lives, including Mom's. She never forgot you, no matter how long it's been. She still loves you. I don't think she'll ever stop."

His heart hurts. That's the only way he can describe the feeling that suddenly envelopes George at that very moment. He has questions, millions of questions. Did Winona marry again? Did she raise the boys in Riverside, or did she return to San Francisco? Was she okay? George takes a deep breath, trying to control the wave of emotions that has suddenly overtaken him. He swallows.

"Tell me she was taken care of."

"To an extent. She's never recovered from your death, but she's in an okay place right now. At least we're back on speaking terms." Jim's tone tells George he doesn't want to elaborate, and George accepts that, although he has to admit he's more than curious. He takes a moment to look at him - really look at him - and he's surprised he didn't see it before.

Frankly speaking, James Kirk is the spitting image of George Kirk.

"Are you okay?" George asks, unsure where to go with this conversation.

"I'm better than I used to be." Jim answers, taking a sip of water. "I used to be this kid who didn't have any direction with his life. I mean, what else can you do when you grow up in Bumfuck, Iowa?"

"I went into Starfleet."

"Yeah, well, I did eventually, but only after someone literally picked me up off the floor of a bar and set me straight. Since then, well, things have pretty much turned around. I have order in my life. I have friends, I have people who respect me and whom I respect. I have family." Jim smiles. "I really have to say I couldn't be happier at this point in time."

That is all that George needs to hear, and he smiles. "You have direction?"

"I'm Starfleet's youngest ever captain. Does that count?"

"I'm impressed. I'm . . . I'm proud. I'm very proud. I've seen how you treat your men. You're a great guy, James."

Jim beams at him from across the table, blue eyes sparkling in a way that reminds George so much of Winona. Jim opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the boatswain whistle, informing Captain Kirk he is needed on the bridge. Jim shoots George an apologetic look.

"I wish we could talk longer. But, you should probably get back to your ship."

George nods, wiping his mouth and standing from his table. For a moment, he and Jim stand there and stare at one another. Jim sticks out his hand, and George meets it with his own. They shake and then . . .
Jim hugs him.

"Thank you." He whispers in George's ear. Jim smiles at George one last time, and then he's gone.