Pavel thought the Vulcan's mood might improve when they were sent into the rear area again two days later. But that night, limping along some paces behind him, he thought that Spock still looked uncharacteristically glum.

"Do you think you could go and cheer him up?" he asked Christine who was walking next to him.

"Me? Why me?" She shook her head.

"Because you are good at it. Even though he might say it is not so."

"Well, not anymore."

"What happened, Chris?"

She shook her head again. "Nothing," she grumbled, but her eyes and tone said otherwise.

"Well, if nothing happened," he retorted with a smirk, "then why not go to him?"

She glared at him, but when she looked back forward, her gaze came to rest on Spock, walking behind Lieutenant Thompson, alone. "I don't know what to do," she mumbled.

Pavel shrugged. "Then just be."

With a sigh, Chris left Pavel with Eli Jones and Henry Forester who had trotted along behind them and sped up to overtake Thomas Cooper and Leonard, then Franklin Jones and Elliot. When she had reached Spock, she slowed down to his speed to walk beside him.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"No." She bit her lip. Spock had never questioned her presence before. Well, she could not blame him.

She stayed next to him, and he did not send her away but did not engage in conversation either. And though the narrow construction of the trenches made them walk so close to each other that their shoulders were almost touching, the emotional distance seemed unbreachable.

Unbeknownst to her, he was feeling quite similar. But, especially considering that Elliot was walking right behind them, he had decided to follow her wish to the letter. He would not reach out to her if she did not explicitly lift the ban. And while simply walking next to him might be considered an attempt to interact with him, he did not dare draw inferences from nonverbal actions.

As they emerged from the trenches and passed the artillery line, Spock stopped and turned around. He could barely see anything in the darkness, apart from a light flickering here and there, making the labyrinth of trenches that he knew was there even more ominous.

"Come on, Jack. Don't look back." Franklin Jones pulled him along and he tore his eyes away from the darkness behind and turned towards the darkness ahead.

Christine was still next to him, but they were not talking. It was a small comfort that she was not ignoring him anymore, but the mood was tense.

"You do realise that sulking around each other will just make you look all the more suspicious?" Elliot asked, something of an awkward smirk visible by the light of his lantern.

Spock watched for any reaction from Christine, but it was either too dark to see or there was none.

"This is because of me, right?" Elliot said after some moments. "I'm sorry."
Christine turned her head while walking and smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I told you it's fine."

"I didn't want this to come between you. Not really," he mumbled, ignoring Franklin Jones's mildly curious glance.

"I know." Christine shrugged. "We all do stupid things. It's all right." She must have noticed Spock watching her, for she glanced at him sideways and added, "It will be all right." She turned back around. "Are we all right, Spock?" she asked quietly.

"I do not know," he said curtly.

Christine sighed. "Oh, come on—"

"You have made every decision in this matter." Spock raised an eyebrow. "Whether we are all right is for you to decide." He averted his eyes again and quickened his step to walk with Lieutenant Thompson instead.

Once they had all reached the rear area a few hours later, there was no time to talk things out or even dwell much on these matters, as their priority was sleep. Spock, McCoy, Pavel, and Christine were staying above the inn again, in the same two rooms close to Thompson's.

Pavel's feet were aching terribly, and he knew McCoy would not like the sight of them. In fact, he was a bit concerned as well. But he knew the doctor's cough had been troubling him during the journey and he needed to rest. And Pavel himself was so tired that he could not care much about trench foot. The four of them were so exhausted that they merely washed off the grime of the trenches and then quickly went to bed, grateful for a mattress after the long walk.

In the morning as they came down into the public room, Marie-Claire came running at them. She threw her arms around Pavel and squeezed him tightly. "Oh, I am ever so glad to see you again!"

"And I, you," he said as he returned her embrace. "I have missed you."

"I have missed you, too." She took a step back. "Oh, this is my younger sister, Joséphine. I have told you about her, yes?"

The other woman had approached them slower than the ecstatic Marie-Claire and smiled politely. If she had not been introduced as her sister, they wouldn't have been able to guess that they were related. Joséphine had auburn hair and seemed generally less vivacious. But their eyes were the same kind of sparkling blue, almost as bright as those of the Jones brothers.
Marie-Claire looked at the others, and her smile faltered. "Where is James?"

Spock shook his head. "He did not make it."

"I am sorry for your loss," Joséphine said gently. "Marie-Claire told me much about him." Then, before the mood could drop too much, she turned on Pavel. "So you are her sweetheart." She looked him up and down as he looked back at her with an awkward smile. "Yes, that fits," she said with a short sniff. "And you're the one she sank her clutches into first," she said to Spock.

Marie-Claire blushed. "Joséphine!"

Spock inclined his head. "The same." He looked at her askance, suspicious of the Delacroix women.

Joséphine inspected him, too, as she had Pavel. "Hm, interesting haircut," she said.

Spock was holding his cap under his arm, making the extent of Christine's doing visible. He had tried combing his hair as he was used to, but the way Christine had cut it seemed to have imbued it with a life of its own, and it stood out in all directions. He had not even managed a simple side parting. It was, to his regret, quite untameable, for which he felt inclined to blame his human heritage.

"You look like some big exotic bird," McCoy whispered in his ear, standing on the bottom step behind him.

Spock merely sighed.

Joséphine turned to Chris. "And you are the one my sister and her new accomplice bullied into wanting to get to know me."

Until now, Chris had all but forgotten about Marie-Claire's plan to set them up. Considering the secrecy she had to keep up, upon which no relationship could be built, she wished she hadn't gone so far as to agree to it. It had happened in the heat of the moment, without thinking about the wider ramifications, an instant of carelessness that was coming back to bite her now. Oh, why couldn't she have just said no?

She swallowed heavily. "Eh, yes, that's me," she mumbled.

Joséphine pursed her lips. "I hope you have no false illusions of romance, then," she said dryly.

"Joséphine!" Marie-Claire hissed again.

Her sister seemed unperturbed. "Quiet, Marie-Claire," she said, then turned back to Chris. "I am not some easy woman you can win over with a nice smile. If you want to get to know me and be my friend, I will gladly spend time with you. But if you want to be my sweetheart, you should save your time and direct your attention elsewhere." She sighed and gave her a small smile. "I regret to say that you do not embody what I am looking for in a man."

For a moment, Chris wondered how much Joséphine had realised about her. But she also breathed a sigh of relief as this small awkwardness might have just saved her from coming under pressure for failing to offer an explanation in the future. And so, she just bit her lips and nodded quickly. "All right."

"Now, don't be sad," Joséphine said not without compassion, apparently having misjudged Chris's look. "Men usually say I am too forward, too independent for their liking." She looked at her with a piercing look, undeterred by the fact that the others were watching them curiously. "What do you say to that?"

Having found her voice again, Chris cleared her throat and said, "Well, I'm not your usual man."

"So I have heard." Joséphine smirked. "They call you the effeminate one. And they say you had an accident because of which you don't grow a beard and your voice did not drop." She shrugged as she noticed Chris's shocked expression. "Oh, don't worry, I am a nurse. I know about castration. I have seen injuries that would put your little childhood accident to shame."

"Joséphine!" Marie-Claire burst out. "Have you no shame?"

Her sister looked at the others, all of whom wore expressions of varying degrees of surprise and shock, though she could not have known that it was for very different reasons than Marie-Claire's reaction.

"Can you not have this conversation in the middle of the public room?" Marie-Claire grumbled, looking over her shoulder to see if people on the adjacent tables were listening in.

"Ah. Yes." Joséphine smirked at Chris. "Too forward as you can see."

"I don't mind." Chris smirked back. "Come, sit with us." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Spock was looking at her mildly scandalised as they walked over to a free table, but she ignored his silent reproach. She was allowed to have friends, after all.

Spock was perhaps not as scandalised as she had thought. He had shot her a warning look, trying to tell her to be careful with forming any sort of relationship with the locals. But at the same time, he would not forbid anyone from socialising and trusted Christine to not divulge any important information to Joséphine.

She certainly seemed to enjoy her presence. Chris and Joséphine had found common ground in contemporary medical treatments and were happily chatting along until Marie-Claire politely asked her sister to change the topic so that she could enjoy her porridge.

Joséphine seemed to be getting along with not only Chris but with McCoy, too, and even with Chekov, despite her earlier teasing. So immersed were they all in their conversations that none of them noticed that Spock wasn't eating a single bite.

It was not that he did not like porridge. He simply wasn't hungry. More than that, the thought of eating made him feel slightly nauseous, so he pushed his bowl to the side and instead listened to the conversations of his shipmates with the Delacroix sisters.

After finishing breakfast, they sat around the fireplace in the back room. This was where Edwin Thompson and Clark Merriweather used to eat together. Now that Merriweather was dead, Thompson ate with the other soldiers in the public room.

There were only one sofa and two chairs, but they had solved that problem by Marie-Claire sitting on Pavel's lap and McCoy perching himself on the sofa's armrest next to Chris. She had offered him the seat, but he had declined, saying he could be closer to the fire this way. Joséphine sat in an armchair on the other side of the sofa, and Pavel and Marie-Claire were sharing the last armchair, completing the half circle around the fire.

Spock sat next to Chris on the sofa, though he might as well have sat in a chair by himself, so far away did she seem. For a while, he stared calmly into the fire, irrespective of the conversations around him. When Marie-Claire giggled suddenly, though, he looked up.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Pavel was just saying. "I cannot promise you anything."

"I don't care if it isn't wise." Marie-Claire giggled again, causing Joséphine to roll her eyes. "I don't care, because I love you."

"Maybe you shouldn't." Pavel's smile faltered. "I cannot guarantee the future. I might die, go back home or fall out of love."

"And?" Marie-Claire's smile grew only wider as her eyes grew softer. "But you still love me now." She laid her hand against his cheek. "And if you leave, someday, I'll let you go, out of love."

Pavel sighed, and Chris thought this might be a conversation they might better have in private. But there hadn't been much privacy in the trenches. And now, they either did not care or were too fond of each other's presence.

"It might hurt you even more," Pavel said, "the longer this goes on."

"It will." Marie-Claire nodded. "It might break my heart," she whispered. "But what of it? I don't care as long as we have now."

Spock sighed inadvertently and quickly looked away, hoping no one had noticed his reaction. He did not begrudge Pavel and Marie-Claire their happiness. On the contrary. Their words might have seemed like empty promises, but the deep wisdom behind them was all too tangible for him. There had been a now when Jim had always been there. And now, he was and always would be, dead. Now was not a moment, now was an eternity.

"See, this is why I have no energy for romance," Joséphine murmured to Leonard and Chris. But she was not even trying to be quiet. "It never lasts, and when it does, it entails so much commitment."

"You might eventually want to settle down," Leonard answered, over Chris and Spock's heads.

"Perhaps eventually." She pursed her lips and shook her head in a gesture of displeasure. "Not now, though."

Leonard shrugged. "There's no need to rush things," he grumbled benevolently. "It wouldn't help, anyway. Better do what you want when you want and savour it as long as you can."

"Hm. I like you more than I thought I would." Joséphine nodded up at him and smirked.

"Me?"

"The bunch of you." She gestured around and smiled. "You're good people."

Christine leaned back to be able to look at her past Spock's back. "You've just met us," she said.

Joséphine chuckled. "And I would already be gone if I didn't like you."

Christine smiled back but turned her attention to Spock. He had not taken part in the conversation but looked into the fire. And she had noticed his sigh earlier as he had looked at Pavel and Marie-Claire with that strangely forlorn look.

She hesitated for a moment, then reached out to take one of his hands lying limply on his knees. "Hey, you all right?"

"Fine."

His hand twitched in hers, and for a moment she thought he was about to close his fingers around hers. But he didn't. He did not even look at her. And his voice sounded cold, dismissive even, probably grounded in her dismissal of him. Christine took her hand away and sighed quietly, realising she was sending mixed signals. How should he react to her walking next to him and to her holding his hand if she had told him in no uncertain words that he should stay away?

When they were leaving the room some minutes later to go upstairs, Chris took Leonard aside. "Can I talk to you about something?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "What about? Your wound making trouble? Inflammation? Itching?" He gestured up at where the bullet had grazed her. The wound had closed a while ago, and the scab had fallen off, leaving an angry red line over the left side of her forehead.

"No, not that." She bit her lip and looked at the Vulcan's receding back as he walked away through the public room. "About Spock," she said, turning back to McCoy. "Please try to talk to him, Leonard. He's not well."

McCoy frowned and sighed deeply. "Well, I agree," he said slowly, "I'm just not sure he wants to."

"And I'm sure he doesn't." Chris smirked up at Leonard. "But that never held you back before. He may not want to, but I think he needs to." She took her friend's hand and squeezed it. "And you need it, too. The two of you need each other."

Leonard nodded. "I'll see how it goes," he grumbled, then narrowed his eyes at her. "What about you? Something happened between you and him."

Chris averted her eyes and nodded. "Yes, there's something I need to patch up, I think," she mumbled. "But don't you worry." She smiled up at Leonard even though she didn't feel like it. "It'll be fine."

Leonard had no chance but to take her at her word and went upstairs to the room that was now his and Spock's alone, not shared with Jim.

There, he sunk down on his bed while Spock stood at the window, looking outside toward the late morning sun. Leonard opened his mouth only to close it again. He bit his lip. Damn, why was it so hard to talk to Spock? And since when? It had not always been this way. He got up and started pacing. Maybe they were all overinterpreting the Vulcan's silence. Maybe Spock would be fine without him having to talk to him. And if he was not fine, what power did he, Leonard H. McCoy, have to help? He was a doctor, not a counsellor, after all.

He stopped in the middle of the room and turned towards Spock who was still looking out of the window, a lone figure framed against the light. It struck Leonard just how alone he suddenly seemed, and he breathed a sigh of resolution. He might just be a doctor stuck in a war, but he was also his friend.

He stepped forward before his resolve could leave him and came to stand directly behind him. "Spock?" he asked. Then, realising that he either had not heard him due to his partial hearing loss or was using it as an excuse to ignore him, he tried again, louder. "Spock!"

"Yes?" He turned around and raised an eyebrow, a shadow of happier days.

McCoy had long since done away with the illusion that Spock was incapable of grief. Or any other emotion for that matter. But as he looked at him now, his gaze was cold and distant. No, not cold, not even that. It was an empty look. A look that seemed eerily familiar. And then it hit him. It was how Clark Merriweather had looked as he had passed them at breakfast on that day he had run away.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "I mean, I know you probably aren't, so I wondered if you might want to talk about it."

"I am fine," Spock said.

"No." McCoy shook his head. "You're not. I don't know if you say that to make me or yourself feel better, but you're not fine. I can see that you're in pain, Spock." He frowned up at him, as there was no reaction to what he had said. No verbal dissent and not so much as a raised eyebrow anymore. "I told you I'd be there if you needed to talk."

"I do not need to talk."

"That's a lie."

"A decision."

Leonard took a deep breath. Part of him was angry at Spock's refusal to accept help and wanted to leave him to stew in his stubbornness and grief. But there was also the part of wanting to take care of him. And that part won over. Even though he couldn't conceal his frustration.

"Now, don't be stupid," he hissed.

Spock's eyebrow twitched. "Please elaborate."

"You're refusing yourself the possibility to heal if you continue to bottle it all up," he grumbled. "Now, you're allowed to bottle it up for a while, you're allowed to grieve in a way that is right for you. But don't shut yourself off under the pretext of being Vulcan and having to out-Vulcan the Vulcans." He resisted the temptation to reach out to touch him and added, softer, "Cause that's all it is sometimes. A pretext. You're not two opposing sides, you're one whole person."

Spock folded his hands behind his back as he answered calmly, "I appreciate your sentiment, but that is not the point."

"Well, what is it, then?" McCoy burst out. "Tell me."

Spock sighed, and his eyes flickered away from the doctor's gaze. "I am not trying to out-Vulcan the Vulcans. Not this time."

"Aren't you?" Leonard took a step forward and glared defiantly up at him. "Prove it, then."

Spock remained silent and turned his back to McCoy. But he could see that he had hit a nerve. He grabbed Spock's shoulder and yanked him back around, took him by the arms and shook him.

"Don't shut me out, dammit!" he shouted. "I'm trying to help you!"

For an instant, Spock looked surprised, but then he tore himself free from his grip and turned back to the window. "If you want to help, leave me alone," he said. "Please."

Was that annoyance in his tone? Yes, his voice did not sound so distanced and eerily calm anymore but genuinely annoyed. That meant McCoy was getting somewhere.

"No, I won't make it that easy," he growled, noticing that Spock's hands were balled into fists. "Talk to me."

"I have talked. I have told you to go away."

"Oh, you've said a lot, but you haven't talked." McCoy frowned at the back of his head. "Come on. No man is an island. Not even a Vulcan."

"Spare me your poetry, Doctor," Spock retorted through gritted teeth. "It does not help matters."

"Oh, so there is something the matter? I thought you said you were fine."

The Vulcan's fists twitched, and Leonard almost felt bad for drawing attention to the discrepancy in his statements.

"I have expressed a wish, Doctor," Spock growled. "I have asked you to go. Why can't you simply follow it?"

"Cause you happen to me my friend, you pointy-eared idiot!" Leonard barked. "Tell me at least why you're not talking, and then I'll leave!"

"Very well." Spock wheeled around, an almost angry flicker in his eyes, and McCoy could see that he wasn't even trying to hide his pain—or wasn't able to. "My refusal to talk is not motivated by any ambition to prove myself!" he snapped. "And I am not indulging my Vulcan side! It's being human I cling to because that's all I have left of Jim. The pain I feel at his absence is the only thing I have left of him in this place and time. I reserve a right to hold on to that pain! To feel!" He glared down at him, then added, only slightly calmer, "So, Doctor. How could I ever do that feeling, the depth of it, justice by simply talking about it?"

McCoy only stared at him, frowning at what this outburst had unearthed. Spock blinked twice and swallowed hard. He gazed back at McCoy, his expression slowly returning to normal. With his monologue, barriers seemed to have fallen away between them and lost their meaning with the truth laid bare like that. Spock did not protest or try to take back what he had said. In fact, he seemed relieved. He exhaled slowly but did not break McCoy's look. For a moment, the war was forgotten, and there were only the two of them and Spock's words left hanging in the air.

"Is that really how you feel?" McCoy asked gently.

Spock nodded curtly. "I feel significantly worse now that we have been back here and I cannot distract myself by fulfilling my duties." He lowered his gaze as if he had just now realised what he had admitted to.

"Oh, Spock." Leonard smiled sadly. "You can't run away forever."

Spock pursed his lips. "I am not running away."

"Yes, you are." McCoy nodded as, at last, the Vulcan's behaviour made sense to him. "You're looking for distractions, and when you can't find them, you're holding on to that pain of having lost Jim because you're afraid to face the world without him. Because right now, that pain seems to be the only thing you have of him. That's it, isn't it?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "That is what I said, yes."

"Well, you're wrong. He left you with more than that." Leonard smiled again, thinking back on Jim's antics. "Your stubbornness only proves my point."

"What would you propose I do?"

It was an honest question, Spock's eyes fixed on McCoy's expectantly. Not that he ever asked dishonest questions. But only seldom did he ask for his advice.

"Stop running. Let it go, Spock. Wallowing in your pain won't bring him back. Now, you're allowed to hold onto it, to feel it as deeply as you want, but don't get stuck there. Don't let it eat you up." McCoy leaned against the desk with a sigh. "I'm sorry," he mumbled after a while, pinching the bridge of his nose as the days since Jim had died played before his inner eye. "We should have talked sooner. Here I am chastising you for not talking, but I didn't talk to you, either."

Spock crossed his arms and shook his head. "I do not blame you," he said. Of course, he didn't. When had Spock, who was so quick to blame himself, ever blamed someone else? He pursed his lips and added, "We were still busy dealing with life in the trenches. We did not have the capacity to deal with this."

Leonard swallowed heavily. He felt a bit choked up suddenly, and he didn't know if it was because he was suppressing the need to cough or because his feelings were overwhelming him. He had no desire for either an emotional outburst or a coughing attack in front of Spock. "Perhaps you're right," he said thickly. "I can't imagine ever getting used to him being gone."

Spock leaned against the desk next to him. "Perhaps we never will," he said quietly. His eyes were cast downward, but at least he was talking.

"You know, I hate to say it, but I can relate to your reaction and your feelings very well," McCoy grumbled and sighed deeply as he averted his gaze to stare at the opposite wall. "I was so afraid that I or one of you could die, and when Jim did, it took me by surprise. I still believed we'd make it out alive." He shook his head and frowned. "I'm angry, Spock."

Spock raised his head and looked at McCoy from the side, unperturbed by the frustration radiating from him. He had known him too long to take it personally. "I see," he said. "Is there any particular reason for your emotion?"

"Nah." McCoy shrugged. "I'm angry at everything," he spat out. "At this bloody war, at myself for my stupid optimism, at you for your stupid self-destructive behaviour, and I'm damn furious with Jim that he had the audacity to get himself killed."

Spock tilted his head and put a hand on McCoy's shoulder. Surprised, McCoy's eyes shot up, meeting his gaze. In his eyes, Spock saw his own emotions reflected. He nodded at him. "It does hurt," he said. "A lot."

McCoy nodded, too. "Right you are," he grumbled. "It bloody well hurts a lot." He sniffed as he felt the tears starting to spill. "Goddammit!" he choked out and burrowed his face in his hands.

Remembering what Jim had said once, Spock slowly leaned in and wrapped his arms around the doctor.

McCoy shot him a startled, teary-eyed look but then leant into his embrace.

"I was wrong," Spock mumbled after a while. "I told Thompson no one knew exactly what I was feeling and that I did not know what anyone else was feeling. I was wrong. I do know."

Leonard smiled into the Vulcan's shoulder. "And we know what you're feeling, Spock." He sighed as he hugged him tightly. This was unexpected but not unwelcome. He certainly needed it, and who knew if Spock didn't as well.

As his hands moved over the Vulcan's ribs, he frowned. "You've lost weight," he mumbled, still not breaking the hug.

"Have I?" Spock said dryly. From his tone, it was obvious that he knew he had.

"You have. We all have," McCoy said and took a deep breath, resolving not to get frustrated again. "Stress does that. But you haven't been eating, have you?"

"I did eat. Sometimes."

Leonard did not need to see his face to imagine that look of stubborn defiance. "Eat more, please," he said. "I worry about you."

"Any weight I lose, I will gain again. When this is over."

"Not if you starve yourself before then."

"I will not starve myself," Spock replied calmly. "Even if I was planning to, statistically speaking, it will not be not eating that kills me."

"Don't argue, please."

"I'm sorry," Spock whispered, his breath tickling McCoy's ear.

He had a feeling that Spock was not apologising just for arguing. "We're gonna get a warm meal again this evening," he said firmly. "And I want you to eat it." He lowered his voice again and added, "Even if nothing tastes good anymore."

He felt Spock nod before he answered. "All right," the Vulcan murmured grudgingly.

McCoy continued to hug him for as long as he needed and then a while longer in case Spock needed it.

Meanwhile, in the room next door, Pavel was trying to relax. He and Christine had slumped down on their respective beds, sharing a nonverbal agreement to relax from the physical and mental torture of the last few days. Pavel had closed his eyes with a sigh, wishing his feet would stop hurting so much. He knew the continued pain was not a good sign and that the initial diagnosis of a mild case of trench foot was not applicable anymore. This was anything other than mild.

And just when he thought he could ignore the pain just enough to take a nap, a certain doctor in the adjacent room saw fit to vent his frustration by shouting. Pavel could not make out individual words, but judging from the anger in McCoy's voice, he would not want to. After a while of this, a second voice shouted back, only once but for longer, and then there was silence. Slightly shocked, Pavel realised that that second voice had been Spock's, and for a moment he wondered if someone should check on the two of them. He had not been able to make out individual words, but if Spock raised his voice, it must be serious. But Pavel definitely did not want to be the one to deal with an argument between his superior officers. If it was an argument at all. McCoy at least could be very expressive. Yes, they would be all right.

At least as all right as they could be under the given circumstances. Pavel did not think he would ever be able to forget the look on their faces when they had come back from battle without their captain. He drew a sharp breath, as he realised, for the first time since Jim Kirk's demise, that there was a good chance that he, Pavel Chekov, would be assigned the position of first officer upon their return to the Enterprise. There was something deeply unsettling about the thought, and he could not quite place it. It was a privilege to serve under Spock, but something about moving up in the command structure after the death of their commanding officer seemed wrong. And maybe he wouldn't be made first officer after all. Who was to say who Spock would choose? He couldn't go by rank, as all of them had attained the rank of commander by now, apart from Spock himself and Mr Scott, of course, who already were captains by rank, if not command. But Mr Scott would not leave the engine room to be Spock's second-in-command. Perhaps Spock would choose Sulu. He would be in command right now and was just as qualified as him, if not more.

Pavel sighed as he wondered not for the first time if he would ever see his shipmates again. He missed Sulu the most, so much that he almost wished he was here with him. But he would rather never see him again than fear for his life constantly. No, Pavel was glad Hikaru was safe. And if they'd never come home, he knew Hikaru would miss him and probably never find out what had happened to him, but at least he would not have died in the trenches.

It was a strangely comforting thought, and he sighed and turned on his side, resolved to take his nap. When he had just closed his eyes, he heard the sniffling from the other bed.

"Christine?" he asked, turning back around.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't want to keep you from sleeping," she murmured through the tears streaming down her face.

"Don't worry, you didn't." Pavel got up and limped over to Christine's bed where he leaned against the headboard next to her and without hesitation, pulled her into a hug. "I could not sleep anyway."

She only nodded and then leaned against him and started sobbing into his battle dress tunic while he slowly stroked her back. He wished he could say something comforting, but there was nothing that came to mind. Instead, he simply held her while she cried, and when she raised her head from his shoulder, he dried her tears with his sleeve.

"How about we go out?" he asked. "We might find something to distract us."

"All right," she mumbled thickly. "Shall we ask Spock and Leonard, too?"

Pavel thought back to the shouting. "If they're not busy," he said hesitantly. "Yes, why not?"

Christine sighed, dragged her sleeve over her eyes one more time and then swung her legs out of bed, stood up, and tucked her uniform straight after she had closed the few buttons she had opened before.

"Ready?" Pavel asked, his hand on the door handle.

"Let's go," she said and nodded, following him into the hallway to the door neighbouring theirs.

He knocked, and when a muffled voice from inside answered, he opened the door.

Spock and McCoy were just stepping away from each other and for a moment Pavel thought he had seen them hug, but considering they had just been shouting at each other, he thought it unlikely. Then again, who knew, nowadays?

"We wanted to see if you wanted to go out with us," Christine said.

"Sure." Leonard picked up his cap from his bed and joined them at the door where he turned around to Spock, who hadn't moved. "Are you coming?"

"If you have nothing against that," Spock said, looking at Christine and running his fingers through his hair. Strange, he hadn't done that with his old haircut. And what a strange question.

"Chris?" McCoy asked. "You know she'd be the last person to protest you coming along."

"It's fine, Spock," Chris said, pressing her lips together in an expression that told Leonard that nothing was fine. But Spock nodded briefly, took his and McCoy's coat from the hanger and followed them out of the room.

"Can I stop by later, when you're alone?" Chris asked, in a tone that should have told Leonard and Pavel that this was none of their business.

"You may," Spock said, turned around and walked down the stairs in front of them.

"What was that about?" Leonard asked and coughed, as a breeze came up from the public room.

"Be sensible and put on your coat, Leonard," Chris said, "or your cough will never go away."

"I'm fine," he grumbled but still followed her advice. Still, he glowered at the back of Spock's head as they followed him down, noticing that his question remained unanswered.

"Did you talk to Spock?" Chris asked as they walked through the public room, taking his mind off of his confusion.

"I did, actually," he said, smirking all of a sudden. "Did you hear shouting?"

"No, why?" She frowned up at him. "Leonard! I said talk to him, not argue!"

He seemed unperturbed. "Well, you know how he is. And how I am when he is how he is."

Christine shot him a reproachful look.

"Relax," Leonard grumbled, "we're fine. I shouted at him, he shouted at me, and then we talked things out."

"He…shouted at you?"

"Yep." Leonard chuckled. "My proudest achievement so far."

His mood seemed to have improved considerably, and while they walked through the village, he teased Spock relentlessly. Any unwitting onlooker would have been forgiven for thinking they were arguing, but to anyone who knew them well, it meant no more or no less than that they were once again inhabiting their comfort zone and that slowly but surely, they were moving on from catastrophe.

They rounded the wall where Spock had sat with Marie-Claire and sat in the orchard, their backs to the wall. The apple trees were in full bloom, bees were buzzing through the air, and the sun was bathing everything in a golden shine.

Leonard lay down in the grass and breathed deeply as if he could take the essence of this moment with him if he only breathed deeply enough. "I don't know how many shirts that man ripped," he mumbled fondly. "You could almost think he did it on purpose, to look the swashbuckling hero he was."

"Well, at least once, you ripped his shirt," Chris answered, sitting cross-legged between him and Spock.

Leonard chuckled. "Why should he have had all the fun?" Then, he sighed wistfully and grumbled, "God knows ripped shirts were the least of his problems. That guy almost died every other week. And when he didn't almost die, he was lost in a parallel universe."

"That was only once," Spock said dryly.

"Twice, actually," McCoy insisted. "The one the Defiant vanished into and the universe where everyone was bad and you had a beard." He shrugged and grumbled, "Wouldn't be surprised if it had been more, though. The way he got himself into all sorts of trouble and always managed to survive defied all odds."

"But in a way," Pavel said, "the odds were always in his favour."

Spock frowned. "Please explain."

"Well, he had experience with escaping impossible situations, he was resourceful, he did not believe that he could not succeed, and we were always there to help. He was not alone."

"Yeah, like that time he threw himself off El Capitan, and you caught him with your levitation boots!" Leonard shook his head and laughed. "Damn, I was angry at him."

They continued to share anecdotes, and their fondness for Jim was mirrored in their words. Everyone could remember a moment when he had cheered them up, helped them be brave, and imbued them with hope and courage. They shared their favourite memories, from chats over a cup of coffee to grand speeches on the bridge. And Spock realises that it wasn't just the pain he had left of Jim. It was the love, too. Mostly, even.

"He may be gone but not forgotten," Pavel said after Christine had shared how he had comforted her after her fiancé had been declared dead.

Spock nodded. "I will miss him."

McCoy smiled. "Is that a feeling, Spock?"

"A fact." Spock pursed his lips and leaned against the wall with a sigh. "The lack of his presence will be an unwelcome adjustment."

"He's not completely gone, you know."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"He means," Christine said and leaned towards Spock, "that what we're missing will live on." She put a hand on his torso over his heart and smiled. "In here, inside of us."

But then she met his look, from her hand to her face as he gazed at her quizzically, and her smile faltered. Realising she was sending mixed signals again and her attention was unwelcome, she took her hand away, blushing as she noticed Pavel and Leonard were watching them. If this awkward situation carried on any longer, she would be forced to tell them everything. And she really didn't want to.

But if they had noticed that something was still awry, they still had the grace not to mention it. Instead, McCoy rounded on Spock.

"How are your ears, by the way?" he asked. "You haven't talked about them in a while."
Spock sighed. "Why would I? My ears are fine, considering the circumstances."

"Elaborate," McCoy grumbled. "How is your hearing? Are you in pain?"

"The hearing in my left ear has steadily improved," Spock answered reluctantly, his arms crossed over his torso, "but it is still very sensitive to audio stimuli, and I often experience beeping or whistling in that ear when overstimulated." He shrugged faintly. "As to my right ear, the hearing has never returned. Sometimes, I hear crackling as if from static but never more."

"Well, that's not too bad." McCoy tried to smile reassuringly. "You might still regain your hearing. Give it time."
"I am sure that is not as easy as it sounds," Pavel piped up. "With all the explosions and all kinds of noises around us all the time?"

"Well, you're not wrong." It was McCoy's turn to sigh, and he looked as if he was about to say something he would prefer not to. He coughed once and then said, "The truth is, Spock, I don't know. If you weren't subjected to constant explosions, I could make a more definite prognosis. I'm sorry."

"I understand," Spock said calmly. "There is no need to feel sorry. It is illogical to dwell on something we cannot change."

"Well, maybe we can fix it once we're back home."

"Perhaps." Spock nodded curtly, and McCoy got the impression that he did not want to speculate about the probability of recovery as well as the possibility of returning home at all.

The truth was that they were all reluctant to do so. With no indication whatsoever of how they could escape, their lives seemed to be doomed to be spent in the past. Leonard had found himself thinking about how and where they would live after the war. If Chris and Spock would live with and work for Thompson, maybe he'd have a place for him, too, and for Pavel. Or he'd open a practice in London, try not to be too good for this time, and live out his life as a doctor. Who knew, maybe he could earn enough money to finance a farm in rural England, similar to the one in Georgia. Maybe he'd find someone to share it with. He had quickly dispelled the thought of settling down in the countryside, though. He wanted to stay with his friends, so staying in London seemed like the logical course, even though he hated using that word. Maybe Pavel had other plans, for who knew what he had planned with Marie-Claire, but for Spock and Chris, it would be safest to stick to Thompson. And he would stick to Spock, just as he knew Pavel would. They were creatures of habit, after all, and when in doubt, they would always keep to the highest-ranking officer.