EPILOGUE
1876
"Come in, Adam."
His brother's voice was so soft, he wasn't sure he'd heard it. Opening the door just a bit further Adam peered inside. "Am I intruding?"
Joe pursed his lips as his eyes lit with joy. "Anne's sleeping in the next room. Come on in."
They'd had an adventure the night before – a joyful one – one that had culminated in the arrival of the tiny bundle of humanity nestled in the crook of his brother's arm.
It was a boy, sure enough, just as Anne had said.
Eric Benjamin Cartwright.
Adam tiptoed over and looked down. He whistled softly. "He's got as much hair as you."
Joe nodded. "'Cept it's blond as Anne's."
The boy's curly head was a mix of yellows, dark as amber and pale as wheat. "He's beautiful," Adam said, adding without missing a beat. "Definitely takes after his mother."
His brother laughed. "You know, I can't believe he's here."
They were in the sitting room of the wing of the house their Pa had given to Joe and Anne. Adam grabbed a chair and pulled it up and then sat there looking at the pair. He knew exactly what Joe meant. Though four months had passed since the events that had unfolded upon his return, he could still hardly believe Joe was here – alive and whole. He'd been so sick back in seventy-four with encephalitis, and what he'd suffered at Theron Vance's hands had brought it all back. For a time Adam feared he'd come home to be the only Cartwright son. The responsibility weighed on him and his own fears had risen up like a tide, trying desperately to tear him away. His father was old. Who knew how long he had. Joe, well, if Joe was gone then it was almost as if he had taken a wife. He'd have to care for Anne and Carrie and...
Eric.
He'd have to be Joe and Ben rolled into one.
In the middle of the night, in his darkest despair, he heard the sirens call and remembered the ebon swells glinting with diamond dust stars and for a moment he wished he was there again, going where no one had gone before.
But for just a moment.
He'd done another thing in the middle of the night. He'd come in and knelt by his brother's bed and prayed to be half the man Joe was.
Only half and it was enough.
They'd taken turns with Joe up until the last few weeks. Once Anne was great with child, the Doc told her she needed to go to bed herself for the sake of her child. He and Pa took turns carrying her in and sitting with her, stepping out when they could to give the couple time alone. Joe was mending slowly. The worst of it was the weakness. About a week before they'd gotten him to sit up on his own for the first time. After that, his brother seemed to seize on that small victory, pushing himself, quickly growing strong enough to visit his wife in her room.
Then one night Joe had come sliding down the staircase, hanging on for dear life to the railing, his eyes wide and his silver-gray hair flying wild. Anne's water had broke. She was in labor. Doc Martin was called and, as a small blessing to all of them who had suffered and lost so much, Eric Benjamin Cartwright made a perfect entrance into the world.
"So who do you think he's going to take after?" Adam asked, a smile twisting his lips. "Hoss or Pa?"
Joe's eyes were bright. "You, big brother," he said.
"Me?"
Joe smiled. "He'll have the soul of a seeker, the mind of a scholar, the strength and hands of a man, and..." His brother's green eyes held his hazel ones. "...a hint of mystery."
They'd never talked about it. What had happened. Where he had been or what he had been doing while he was there. He'd never explained how he 'd remained so young. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but...
Home.
"No," the black-haired man said, reaching out toward his nephew who caught hold of his finger and drew it hungrily toward his mouth, "there's no mystery to it.
"It's called love."
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2269
Jim Kirk stood outside his first officer's door, waiting for silent permission to enter as he so often did. When it came as a whisper in his mind, he touched the wall panel and the door slid open. Anticipating his request, the Vulcan had modified the temperature of his room to where it was...almost...pleasant. Spock had also anticipated another need.
Two glasses sat on his desk, filled with an amber liquid.
"Been raiding McCoy's 'medicine' cabinet, have we?"
Spock sat as he often did, with his index fingers forming a steeple and resting on his lips. He released a breath of air as he dropped them to his lap and straightened up.
"I had a sense you would have need of it."
"You're going to make Bones jealous with that talent of yours," he said as he took a seat opposite the Vulcan and reached for the glass. Holding it up, he saluted and took a sip. When he did, his eyes lit up. "Does Bones know you took the good stuff?"
"I left a bottle of Vulcan Spice tea in exchange."
It was there in spite of Spock's protestations. A wry wit. There was no denying it.
Kirk took another sip and then leaned back in his chair. "So have you divined the cause of my present mood as well?"
"You have un answered questions," his friend replied.
"Regarding?"
"My choices."
Kirk swallowed another sip, relishing the inner warmth the liquor produced even though, combined with Spock's recreated Vulcan atmosphere, it made him a little dizzy. It had been about a month since the events that had transpired on Earth. They'd battled first for Spock's life and then, for his sanity. That day on the hilltop in 1964, he'd been forced to stun both his friend and Ba'Or, who'd rushed the Vulcan with murder in his eyes. The blast had weakened Spock's already weak system and it had been touch and go for a good while. After Bones was sure he would live, it had taken the best scientists and doctor's in Starfleet to figure out how to flush the Originator's venom from Spock's system. And then it had taken Ambassador Sarek to reach his son and restore him to sanity.
That had been a day.
Once Spock was out of danger, the next battle was the one against Starfleet to get his record wiped clean and the Vulcan officially reinstated as first officer on the Enterprise. Among other things, Professor Beckett – who carried a good deal of weight – had lodged a formal complaint against the Vulcan for the theft of the original manipulator and his university had to be...compensated with a special grant to visit Gateway in order to get him to withdraw it.
As to the ramifications on Earth and in the past, they'd been, well, interesting. Starfleet had ordered that a cordon be established around the Bodie mine to keep any alien species from acquiring the time manipulators buried there. It effected the nervous system and made anyone who touched anything that came from within ten miles of the mine feel ill.
Thus the rumors of a Bodie curse.
In the end Spock had gotten a slap on the wrist for acting without orders – forced time away – which the Vulcan had gleefully spent diving into some long-delayed research, but that had been it. They'd come back to the Enterprise, life and duty had crowded in, and things had returned to normal.
Well, almost.
"You have not come to peace with my choice to act on my own regarding the events in nineteenth century Nevada, nor with those events themselves," Spock said when he said nothing. "As a result, our relationship has been strained."
Had it? He hadn't realized it, not until McCoy had pointed out how he had been avoiding the Vulcan.
"Sorry, Spock." Jim sat the glass down on the desk. "I am sorry. I really don't know what it is." He shrugged and his smile was chagrinned. "I don't like to be left out?"
Spock nodded. "Precisely."
"What?"
The Vulcan shifted. "It is your belief that my choice not to consult you before journeying into the past is an indication that your input was not necessary. On the contrary, it was you who were necessary to the time and plane of existence we now occupy and therefore not expendable. It was to insure your continued existence that I made the choices I did."
"I'm not that petty, Spock," he said, slightly indignant.
"Not 'petty', no, but...human. There is within the human creature a desire to know that its life is useful. That it will be missed when it is gone."
Jim frowned. "'It' being me?"
"In the abstract."
"So you think," he began, "that I'm in a blue funk because I felt you didn't need me?"
One ink-slash eyebrow peaked. "A 'blue funk'?"
"Look it up." Kirk rose and began to move about the room. "Part of it is what you say, Spock, but there's something more. I feel... I don't know. Out of control like I have no – "
"Control over your own destiny?"
He stopped. "Maybe."
Spock finally sighed. "This is another reason I did not consult you before taking action."
"What 'reason'?"
"Jim, you pride yourself on being a self-made man; a man of keen intellect and decisive action based on experience. I was aware that it would be...uncomfortable for you to realize how much of what you are was written into your genetic code long ago."
He knew all about genetics. He'd been through all the tests when he joined the Academy and the statisticians had tried to pigeon-hole his course based on what they found. He'd ignored them and forged the man he was today. Except, he hadn't. Not really.
It was hard to deny your ancestor's influence when you were looking him in the face.
"You are thinking of Ben Cartwright, and of his youngest son."
He nodded as he dropped back into the chair. "It was startling," he had to admit, "realizing just how much of what I am came from them."
"Through them, Jim."
Spock's use of his personal name always made him pay attention. "What do you mean?"
"We are creatures of choice. What is written into our genetic code may be acted upon or denied. This was Curran Theron's aim, to...alter your choices."
A strong-willed man could be a force for good or evil. What was reckless to some was courage to others. If a man was stubborn that could mean he would not bend, but then again, it could just mean he was not willing to compromise.
He'd seen it in the Cartwrights, in Ben and his boys.
He saw it now in himself.
"I feel sorry for him in a way."
The peaked eyebrow tried to climb higher. "Theron?"
Jim nodded. "He had all of time and space and yet his world was so small."
"Indeed."
Kirk rose then. He started for the door. A second later, he turned back. "You haven't touched your drink."
Spock's lip curled in that half-smile that was only his. "I believe I shall save it for when the good doctor comes to retrieve his bottle. I understand it is a good mixer with Vulcan Spice tea."
Kirk laughed so hard he nearly split the seams of his regulation shirt.
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1964
"Hey, Mike. How you feeling?"
His costar was sitting slouched in a chair. Mike 's curly brown head was barely visible above the book he was reading. Dan bent down to read the title. "The Man Who Fell to Earth." The big man straightened up. "Somehow I didn't see you as a science fiction type. Romance, maybe?"
Mike lowered the book and glared at him.
They'd managed to keep the whole episode where he'd disappeared out of the press. It had taken some maneuvering since the police had been called in. In the end he and Lorne and Pernell had accepted Mike's explanation that he'd been on a bender and his sense of humor had gotten out of control. It wasn't the truth. They all knew it.
Even though they didn't know what the truth really was.
"They're ready for you, Mister Landon, Mister Blocker," one of the director's assistant's said.
Dan slapped the bottom of Mike's shoe. "Come on, short-shanks. Time to dazzle the ladies."
Mike stretched and then stood, placing the book on his chair. He scratched his head and then ran a hand along the back of his neck. "You know, Dan, I've been thinking I might try my hand at script writing. Maybe making my own show."
"Really?"
"I mean, how hard can it be to create a TV series?"
Dan's eyebrows popped. "Don't you go letting David hear you say that," he snorted.
"Oh, I wasn't thinking about a western. More of a, wagon train to the stars, if you know what I mean. Something set in space, with a captain and his crew seeking out new life and having an adventure or two."
"And I suppose there's little green men in it."
Mike got a funny look on his face. "Maybe one. But he's not little."
Dan thought a moment. "You actually gonna pitch that to someone at the studio?"
Those green eyes did their dance and then that laugh came, the one that made everyone join in.
"Nah. Hell, it'd never sell."