The next morning, Spock came down to breakfast slightly later than the other, wrapped, to Leonard's amusement, in the same blanket from yesterday. In fact, it was the very same that they had given him when they had last been here and the one that they had then used for Chris when she had been so sick, the one that he had always carried around in the trenches.

"Well, if it isn't Linus van Pelt," Leonard said as Spock sank down on the bench next to him, accepting the bowl of porridge with a silent nod.

"Linus van Pelt?" he asked. "I do not follow."

"Bet you don't." McCoy shook his head. "Never heard of Peanuts?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Assuming you do not mean the edible seed of the legume crop by the name of Arachis hypogaea, I have not."

"It's a comic strip, you doofus. And a video series or whatever else those people had back then."

"It is very well known," Pavel added. "It was conceived in the mid-20th century, by Charles M. Schulz."

Spock narrowed his eyes at him over his porridge. "A Russian?"

Chekov shook his head. "No, of course not. Why would you think so? He was an American."

"Ah." Spock ate a spoon of porridge, then frowned again. "And what exactly is this Peanuts about?"

Christine shrugged. "Basically, a group of children and an anthropomorphic dog," she said, smirking at Spock's intrigued expression. There was something to look forward to showing him if they got back home.

"Lucy was my favourite," McCoy said, pushing his empty bowl away. "She was a spunky one."

"Lucy?" Chris snorted in mock disgust. "Hated her. Reminded me of that girl who bullied me."

Spock looked back and forth between them, raised his eyebrow once more and then seemed to decide that his porridge was more worthy of his attention—which was saying a lot, had he all but avoided it only yesterday.

When Franklin and Joséphine joined the small group, the talk about 20th-century comics understandably stopped quite suddenly.

Seeking to prevent an awkward silence and subsequent suspicion, Spock pointed at the book he was carrying and asked, "What are you reading?"

"Oh, it's still the same," Franklin mumbled absentmindedly, squeezing onto the bench next to McCoy and Chekov so that Joséphine could sit next to him. Spock was about to offer her the seat next to him, but Christine stopped him with a hand on his arm. He tilted his head as he looked at her, slightly perplexed about the interruption. After all, it was more logical for Joséphine to sit with just him and Chris instead of having to sit on the edge of the bench next to three other people. But Christine just smiled and shook her head, and he sighed, accepting that she had a reason even if he did not understand it. Then again, looking across at Joséphine and Franklin and noticing how he blushed as she smiled up at him, maybe he could hazard a guess.

Across from him, McCoy rolled his eyes at him and sighed. God, did he not like being squeezed onto this bench like sardines in a can, just because Franklin had developed a crush on Joséphine. Well, at least it seemed to be reciprocated. Under that condition, Leonard was willing to bear this discomfort, probably more willingly than he was pretending. Even if he thought it should be forbidden for people to look as handsome as they did, what with their blue eyes and dark brown and auburn hair respectively.

He sighed again, acknowledging that his momentary frustration was probably misdirected. The truth was that it was hard to see how the world moved on as if it did not care that it had lost one of its best men. No, change was inevitable. But every change from now on would be a change that happened without Jim. There were things he would never know, people he would never meet. But still, change was inevitable. And life would go on without Jim, even if it hurt.

Others carried on, too, as well as they could. When Leonard had come down to breakfast on his own, having left the still slumbering Vulcan to himself, Elliot Baker had already been in the public room, sitting at the bar. Leonard had almost joined him but had still been too tired and disgruntled to socialise. Instead, he had looked for a table and had sunk down on a bench, stifling a yawn with his sleeve.

Minutes later, Henry Forester had come in with a group of other soldiers. He had made a beeline for Elliot and before the boy had realised what was happening to him, had asked, "You can read, right?"

"Read? Why, yes, of course, I can. You know that," Elliot had answered shakily. "But why are you asking, Henry?"

Henry had answered by tossing Williams's book of poetry to him. "Read to me, will you?" he had asked.

Elliot had stared back at him for a moment, taken aback by the unexpected demand and Henry's flippant tone.

"Please?" Henry had added, with a pout.

Elliot had smiled back at him and nodded. And since then, he and Henry had sat huddled together in a corner of the room, reading.

McCoy had been watching sporadically and smiled over at them, glad to see them make the best of their situation. His gaze returned to his own table just in time to see Lieutenant Thompson approach behind Spock.

"Cold, Grayson?" he asked.

Spock did not react, and McCoy silently cursed the Vulcan, as he saw the sudden catastrophe play out in front of him. People were talking all around, Thompson hadn't spoken especially loudly, and he was standing on Spock's right side. Of course, he didn't react.

Thompson slowly narrowed his eyes at Spock, whose attention was taken up by his porridge, and McCoy kicked the Vulcan under the table, only earning a bewildered glance. McCoy silently pointed at his own ear, then motioned towards Thompson. Spock's eyes widened slightly as he understood, just a moment too late.

He looked up at Thompson, raising his eyebrows innocently.

"Come with me, Lance Corporal," the Lieutenant said sternly and turned to go.

Spock sighed and followed him to the back room. Once there, he did not sit but kept standing, his hands behind his back.

Thompson crossed his arms as he glared up at him. "I heard you in the orchard yesterday," he said. "Is there anything you might want to tell me?"

Spock blinked once and pursed his lips. Most of the things they had talked about no one in this time should ever know. If Thompson had overheard them referencing starships, time travel, and the like, this could be an interesting conversation.

Thompson was still looking at him, and Spock knew he would not let him leave the room without an answer. Still, one could try. He raised one eyebrow and met Thompson's glare with equanimity.

"Tell me. Now."

"I am unsure what you are referring to."

"Your ears." Thompson gestured at his head. "Since when can't you hear well?"

Secretly relieved that this was what this talk was about and not any of the other topics of yesterday, Spock said, "Since the day Angus Hutchinson died."

The colour rose in Thompson's cheeks. "That long ago? And you never thought to tell me, your commanding officer?" He balled his hands into fists. "Are you out of your mind?" he burst out angrily.

"I am not." Spock tilted his head. "Though, I am sure that if you were to ask McCoy, he would be tempted to agree with you."

Thompson sighed and walked to the sofa where he sat down heavily and rested his head on his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose. Spock got the impression that it cost him a great deal of composure not to lash out again. "Who knows?" he asked at last, not quite calmly.

"Lance Corporal McCoy, and Privates Chris and Paul Chapel," Spock said. "Corporal Kirk knew, too. No one else."

Thompson nodded slowly. "Sit," he said tersely and waited until Spock had sunk down next to him. "Now tell me. What happened, and how bad is it?"

Spock hesitated but then told him all about the explosion, about the initial state of his hearing, and how it had developed.

Thompson listened carefully, and when he had finished, he shook his head. "It's a wonder you haven't gotten an infection, with your eardrum being burst. Ever heard of meningitis?"

Spock nodded. "I have, yes."

"Do me a favour, and at least put some cotton in your ear in the trenches. There's stuff out there you barely want on you, let alone in you." He noticed Spock's look and rolled his eyes. "Good God. You haven't even thought about that, have you? It's a wonder you haven't died already."

Spock pursed his lips. "I regret to say I didn't."

"You regret to say you didn't die?" Thompson met Spock's perplexed gaze and chuckled. "Just joking, Jack, just joking. I know what you meant. It's what you would do, purposefully misunderstanding."

"I do not do that," Spock protested.

"Sure you don't." Thompson laughed then grew serious again. "Well, maybe I'm being unfair. You did get shrapnel stuck in your head. Who knows what that did."

Spock merely nodded, letting him draw his own conclusions as always.

"When did that happen, by the way?" Thompson continued. "I never asked."

Spock averted his eyes and glanced into the fire. To Thompson, it must seem as if he was bracing himself to talk about a possibly traumatic experience. In truth, he was making sure his answer—his lie—was believable.

"Two years ago this November," he said. The first winter after the war had started, the fighting would have been well underway, and there would have been enough time to recover until now.

"Ah." Thompson nodded grimly. "You were at Ypres, right?"

"Yes," Spock answered without hesitation. "I was."

"Maybe you're better at surviving than I gave you credit for," Thompson mumbled, "if you made it since then. Other men returned from Flanders with far worse than shrapnel and a pair of pointy ears."

"Some did not return at all," Spock answered. "About one hundred and eighty thousand if I am not mistaken."

"You're probably not." Thompson sighed deeply, and it was his turn to avert his gaze to look into the flames. Frowning, he slowly stroked his moustache, something that Spock had long since recognised as a self-soothing habit of his. "I can't help but fear that seeing how small that number seems by now and how the killing seems to never stop that by the time the war ends, millions more will have died. By the end, it'll be about ten million, soldiers and civilians who will have been wiped from the face of the earth."

Spock remained silent. If only Thompson could be right. In total, the estimate would be between fifteen and twenty-two million.

"Well," Thompson said, ripping his look away from the fire, "and what will we do with you?"

"I do not know." Spock straightened up, expecting the Lieutenant to move on to disciplinary measures for the perceived failure to report his injury.

"I want you to see a doctor," Thompson said instead. "I bet I can find one who will ignore all of this." He gestured up at his ears.

"I highly doubt that." Spock raised an eyebrow. "In any case, I do not think it necessary."

"Oh? Just as you didn't think it necessary to tell me you were hurt?"

Spock ignored the swipe. "McCoy has already sufficiently examined me," he said. "And he knows as much as any doctor you could procure."

He thought Thompson would disagree, but instead, he shrugged and leaned back on the sofa. "All right, then. No doctor for you," he grumbled. "You might be right, though. I've seen what he can do, after all." He fell silent, his gaze returning to the fire.

Spock waited patiently, feeling that there was more to come. And he was right.

"I can do something that McCoy can't, though." Thompson turned back to Spock, his eyes suddenly infinitely softer than when he had chided him. "Do you want to go home, Jack?" he asked. "Two telegrams, and you can take a walk in Regent's Park tomorrow evening."

Spock shook his head, though he was not ignorant of the generosity of the offer. "That will be unnecessary," he answered, gently but firmly.

"Are you sure? I'd put you up. Mary and the servants would take care of you."

Spock pursed his lips. "I appreciate the offer. But my place is with my friends."

Edwin Thompson's eyes bored into his, and then he smiled bitterly. "I suppose it is. Very well, then. You'll stay." He held up his hand in an admonishing gesture. "If you're fit for duty, that is. You're one of my best men, I can't have you become a liability."

"I understand." Spock nodded. Thompson could not know, but he did understand very well, indeed. Balancing the need for personnel and the personal comfort of said personnel was a task he was all too familiar with as an executive officer. "You can rest assured, however," he continued, "that I won't. I think I have proven that the injury to my ears does not adversely impact my abilities."

"Hm, yes. That you did." Thompson narrowed his eyes and, to Spock's surprise put one hand on his arm, looking strangely concerned all of a sudden. "You didn't do this to yourself, did you?"

"I did not." Spock raised an eyebrow. "Why would I do that?"

Thompson met his eyes and chuckled dryly. "Yes, why would you?" He shrugged helplessly and, with another sigh, said, "Well, I heard about a guy who impaled his ears with a poker because he thought it'd stop the explosions going off inside his head."

"Hm. And did it?"

"What?" Thompson gave him a perplexed look. "No, they were just in his head. He lost his hearing, but the explosions were all he could hear in the end."

Spock only nodded gravely. For a moment, he thought of asking whether this was a person Thompson knew but then felt it was too personal a question if they were and an unnecessary one if not.

Thompson stood up and, standing in front of him, put one hand on Spock's shoulder. "I'm glad you're staying, Jack. But especially with what happened to Clark, I had to offer you a way out before it's too late." He bit his lips, and his eyes flickered away. "You scared me a bit, that one night in the bunker." Then, before Spock could say anything, he gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder, turned on his heel, and left without another word.

Spock exited the back room a few seconds later, but instead of rejoining his friends, he stopped at the corner of the bar, watching them from afar. If someone had asked him at this moment why he had elected to stay, he would not have been able to give a satisfactory answer beyond that he believed his place was with his friends. What he had said to Thompson was true, but it was irksome that he did not have a more detailed reason himself than this intuitive loyalty. It was the kind of vague answer Jim would have given.

Ahead at the table, Christine and Pavel seemed to have started bickering about something, only half serious of course. McCoy was watching and interrupted them after some moments, his answer causing Chris to burst out laughing, a sound that reached Spock's ears even through the chatter of people in the public room. He pursed his lips, suddenly aware of how precious these moments had become and wondered if his motivations were perhaps more selfish than he would like to admit and whether he could actually be endangering his friends by staying. What if he was to become a liability after all? But if he didn't stay, he could not protect them. Once more, he became acutely aware of the severity of his loss, and he wondered what Jim would say and whether he'd approve of his actions and his motivations.

His reverie was not quite as inconspicuous as he had thought. Over at the table, Joséphine happened to notice him as she let her eyes wander over the people in the room. Her gaze met his, and she turned to Franklin, appearing to whisper something in his ear and then got up to make her way over to him.

"Have you gotten in trouble?" she asked as she leaned against the bar.

"You might say so." Spock sighed. Now that Thompson knew, there was no reason to keep it from the others. "A while ago, an explosion left me with complete hearing loss in my right and partial hearing loss in my left ear, as well as some generally small inconveniences regarding my hearing." He pursed his lips. "I kept all of that from Thompson."

"And he found out?"

"He did, yes." Spock shook his head. "It is the least of my problems."

"I bet." Joséphine's eyes bored into his, and she stepped closer. "Tell me about Jim," she said suddenly.

Taken aback, Spock raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Because he's important to you."

"How would you know?" He had not meant for it to sound dismissive and realised only as he had said it that it might sound harsher than intended. But Joséphine, either due to her experience or her natural compassion, understood.

"Yes, how would I?" she murmured and smiled up at him. "Because I see the hole he has left, gaping in your midst. You're like a puzzle with a missing piece. And yet, all of you seem to carry him with you. When his name is mentioned, Chris and Paul's faces light up, and even Leonard smiles ever so slightly." She paused, and her smile faltered. "And you? Your look grows distant as if you could look behind the veil of death itself."

Spock nodded. "How poetic."

"One might say I am somewhat of an expert on loss. But who isn't nowadays?"

For a while, they both stood leaning against the counter, silently immersed in their thoughts. But Joséphine's request was still hanging in the air, and after a while, Spock raised his eyes to look at her. She was looking patiently back at him, not pressuring him but waiting nonetheless.

"He was the best friend I could have wished for," Spock began quietly. "I found my place in the world with his help, and my home was at his side." He pressed his lips together tightly and averted his eyes again. "He made a home for all of us." He felt that these were empty words and that, at the same time, he was divulging too much.

Joséphine, though, nodded slowly and smiled again. "How glad he was to have been loved so dearly." It was her turn to avert her eyes and Spock's to wait patiently, as he felt that this was not all she had wanted to say. "I loved my brothers," she mumbled eventually. "And not a day goes by that I don't miss them."

"Was it because of them that you joined the war effort?"

Joséphine smirked. "Oh no, I joined because I hate the war, always have."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"I became a nurse," she said, "because I thought I could just prevent some of the death to come."

Spock nodded. "And you do."

"Yes, but it always feels too little, doesn't it? Too little, too late." Joséphine was talking so quietly that he could barely hear her over the chatter around them. "When our brothers died, one by one, I had half a mind to hang up my nurse's cap and come home and wait for it all to be over. Being out there suddenly felt in vain, because no matter what I did, people kept dying. People I loved."

He tilted his head and unknowingly stepped closer to her. "What made you stay?" She couldn't know how relevant this question was, how she had unknowingly hit the proverbial nail on the head. Then again, these people here had a habit of surprising him.

"I couldn't bear to sit idly by and watch how families were torn apart." She smiled up at him, a sad, yet resolved smile. "And maybe, if I can save one man from dying or make one person's final moments easier, maybe it won't be in vain after all."

Spock looked back at her, suddenly taken with the deep wisdom behind her words. "More than that," he said gently. "What you do is worth more than all the guns and shells used up in No Man's Land."

For a second, her smile grew wider. But it faltered quickly, and she said, "Well, then it must be worth a lot, considering I see enough metal in the boys to shoe our horse twice a week."

Spock pursed his lips and nodded, acknowledging that there was nothing he could say or do, short of ending the war, that would make Joséphine feel better about it.

"You know what they say when they die?" she asked suddenly after a few moments of shared silence. "Who they call for?"

"I would assume a friend or a relative, maybe a deity."

Joséphine shook her head. "Their mothers." She pressed her lips together and a shadow passed over her eyes. "They've been trained to kill. But all of those boys, French, English or German, when they're afraid, they cry out for their mothers, not their officers."

Spock sighed. "Naturally," he answered. "Their mothers did not send them off to war."

There must have been something in his tone that told Joséphine more than he had intended, for she asked, "If you dislike the war, why are you here?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Mainly because of conscription," he answered dryly.

She almost laughed. "And apart from that?" she asked.

"And because this is where my friends are," he said simply.

She nodded and rested her hand on his wrist. "You're a good man, Jack Grayson," she said. "Your friends are lucky to have you." She took a step back and turned to Franklin who was approaching them.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked and nodded up to Spock. "Or do you need a moment?"

She shook her head and took the arm he was offering her. "No, I am finished here. You were right, Archie." She smirked up at Spock and said, "He might look like the devil incarnate, but he has got a heart of gold."

Franklin looked at him apologetically as they walked away, but Spock only shrugged. He had heard worse from McCoy.

And he knew he could hear far worse from the average person in this era. Once or twice, he had noticed children on the street avoiding him, changing the side of the road or peeking at him from behind their mother's legs. Others merely stared in innocent curiosity. The adults, too, often regarded him with a mixture of suspicion and apprehension. The soldiers were an exception, as they usually had better things to do than care about his looks, but he was sure that not all of them felt as cordial about him as people like Lieutenant Thompson or Franklin.

Unsurprisingly, he felt safest when he was in the company of his friends, away from prying eyes and nosy questions. Thus, he gladly agreed to Christine's idea to take a walk in the forest near the village early in the afternoon.

When he, Chris, Pavel, and McCoy left the inn, however, it became clear that they would need to settle for the shorter route through the fields. McCoy was coughing, and Pavel was still limping.

"You as a doctor should know to take care of yourself," Chris admonished Leonard as they slowly walked along the road.

"It's not like I have a chance to," he grumbled. "And I'm sure the walk and the fresh air will help."

Christine only shrugged as she walked ahead, and Spock met McCoy's look. The doctor quickly shook his head, confirming his assumption that he had only said so to mollify Christine.

They passed the orchard and turned towards the fields, strolling along at a leisurely pace, if only because of the strained look on Pavel Chekov's face when they walked any faster. But even if it had not been primarily due to medical concerns, it was too nice a day to hurry.

Though no wheat was growing at this time of year, the fields were far from empty. Flowers had sprung up in the coarse earth and were lining the path. There was lavender, heather in purple and white, red poppies, and the delicate blue of a forget-me-not here and there.

"It is a beautiful place," Pavel said when they stopped to admire the view. "It is no wonder that Vincent van Gogh chose France to do his painting."

"You could almost forget there's a war going on," McCoy said.

Christine nodded. On a day like this, at a place like this, it was indeed almost inconceivable that the trenches were mere miles away. Almost, for they could still hear the booming of the artillery if the wind blew a certain way.

When they walked on, she took Spock's arm and let Leonard and Pavel walk ahead so that they could set the pace.

"I almost can't believe this is going to become the Earth we know," she mumbled, gesturing around. "It seems millennia away, not just a little over three-hundred years. And First Contact is in half that time."

Spock nodded. "In one-hundred and forty-seven years."

"Well, that's almost tomorrow." She smirked up at him but then grew serious again. "And millions more will die until then."

"The price of Utopia has always been one difficult to repay, if at all." He pursed his lips as he went on. "The sacrifice has always been great and will be greater still than what we see here."

Chris frowned up at him. "They're not doing this for us. They're not sacrificing themselves for some utopian future. They're trying to survive."

"Perhaps." He nodded curtly, watching McCoy and Chekov walking ahead. "And yet, many would say they believe in a greater good." He turned to look down at her and raised an eyebrow. "I never said the sacrifice was fair."

"Well, you're right on that." She squeezed his arm and sighed. "In a way, willingly and unwillingly, every person in this time is a parent of our present. By however small actions, these people make the future happen. Makes you think about the impact you can have on history."

Spock only nodded.

"Of course, we better have no impact at all on history as it is," she continued. "If we never get back home, I suppose I shall have to give up the disguise and marry some nice middle-aged man and settle down somewhere in the city." She chuckled softly. "Or stay in disguise and marry some nice middle-aged woman. Of course, she would have to be in on it. Would be a bit awkward otherwise."

Spock suddenly drew a shaky breath and stopped.

"Spock?" she asked, then smirked. "Don't tell me this is because of me."

He shook his head. "Most assuredly not," he said curtly.

Under her hand, his muscles tensed up and she noticed his hands were shaking suddenly. "Charming," she grumbled. "Well, what is it? Come on, sit down here."

She indicated a rock by the wayside, and he did not need much convincing, slumping down on it with a sigh.

Chris turned to the others who had not yet noticed they had fallen behind. "Leonard! Pavel! Come quick, something's wrong!"

She turned back to Spock as McCoy and Chekov hurried over to them. He was dreadfully pale, and the mere fact that he wasn't protesting any of this attention spoke volumes.

"What's the matter, Spock?" McCoy wheezed. "Some sort of panic attack?"

"I doubt it," he answered feebly. "It feels like a sudden adrenaline surge." He nodded up at Chris. "Like you had that one time."

Doctor McCoy frowned, his hand on Spock's neck as he was taking his pulse. "Under the circumstances, a panic attack doesn't sound that unlikely. Even for you. I've stopped counting mine."

"I haven't," Pavel mumbled. "I've had six."

"It's also worth considering," Chris added, putting one hand on his shoulder, "that you've just experienced a massive loss. This is bound to affect us all in ways we couldn't expect."

"Perhaps." Spock pursed his lips and took a few shaky breaths. "There is another possibility."

"And that is?"

"I have received blunt force trauma to my head at least two times now. We know there were medical consequences the first time around." He looked up at her, then to McCoy. "What if one of those instances or the combination of both led to some neurological damage?"

Leonard shook his head. "No, I don't believe that's the case."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Is that your medical opinion?" he asked quietly.

In place of an answer, McCoy cast his eyes downward, awkwardly folding his hands behind his back. If the situation wasn't so dire, it would have been amusing how dreadfully bad at lying he was, even non-verbally. In this moment, McCoy certainly did not find it amusing at all. Why did the Vulcan have to ask him such a question if he knew that around here, nothing was for granted, and his medical opinion meant about as much as Spock's science degree? He exhaled forcefully and glared down at Spock. "Can't we just spend one damn day without having to worry about you?" he snapped, ignoring Christine's disapproving glance.

Spock did not answer. He, too, averted his gaze, and they all fell silent as they waited for his condition to improve. McCoy was still pretty sure it was a panic attack, but he wasn't gonna tell Spock that.

After a while, as his breathing had evened out and his hands had stopped shaking, Spock raised his head. His eyes fixed on the horizon, he pursed his lips and said, "Thompson wanted to send me home."

McCoy sighed. "Well, that's something at least. You'll be safer in London."

Spock raised his eyebrow as he looked back at McCoy whose eyes narrowed in view of his silence.

"What did you say?" he growled. "Tell me you said yes."

Spock remained silent and his gaze flickered away.

"Spock, what did you say?" Christine asked gently.

"Naturally, I declined," he muttered, glancing sideways at McCoy.

"You damn, green-blooded idiot! Are you actually stupid?" Leonard seemed seconds away from stomping his foot.

"Doctor, I fail to see the logic of your outburst," Spock replied quietly, still feeling rather weak.

"Oh, you bet!" McCoy balled his hands into fists and frowned at him with a look that would have made a Klingon warrior beg for mercy. "You know where you can shove your blessed logic?"

"Doctor!" Pavel said, admonishingly.

"Leonard, stop!" Chris added.

He wheeled around to them. "What? I'm just giving him a piece of mind."

"That's one word for it," Christine mumbled towards Pavel but loud enough that Leonard could hear her.

Pavel nodded. "As much as my feet hurt, I'd rather go on and leave them to it."

"Nah, you go." Christine shook her head. "I don't want to miss this."

Chekov sighed but decided to stay as well—as awkward as this was promising to be.

"Why, Spock?" McCoy continued. "Why? Why would you refuse your only chance at safety? There are boys less than half your age dying out there every day, we might die any day! Then you get a ticket home, and you refuse? Make it make sense!" He was breathing heavily again, his current health issues no doubt exacerbated by his agitation.

Spock, undisturbed by his anger, looked calmly back at him and said, "I would have to leave you."

"Damn right you would," McCoy growled, hitting his thigh with his fist. "And I'd be glad to see you go if it meant you were safe."

"I am not afraid to die," Spock answered steadily. "I have died before."

"Don't be so smug about that!" McCoy shouted. "You think that makes it better?" He grabbed Spock's shoulders and glared down at him. "You may have forgotten, but I watched you die. I watched you repair the warp drive by hand, and I watched what it did to you! I watched the skin peel from your face, and I watched you crumble to the floor when you were too weak to stand." His breath caught in his throat, and a shadow passed over his face. "And I couldn't help you. I could only wait for it to be over. And even though the radiation killed you quickly, I felt it wasn't fast enough, and I wished for you to die so it could be over. I watched you die in the most horrible fashion, and I couldn't help. Not even make it easier for you." He shook his head as if he was trying to shake off the memory. "You must have been in so much pain."

To his credit, Spock seemed to have paled a little, either due to the traumatic memory or due to feeling shame for forgetting that event's effect on his friends, even if just for a moment, and he averted his eyes. "It was the most painful day of my life."

McCoy's hands slipped from his shoulders, and he straightened up. "Yeah, of mine as well," he said. "I told you I couldn't bear losing you again, then, on the way from Genesis, and mere days ago in the bunker." He bit his lip and added hurriedly, "And I mean it, Spock!"

Spock raised his head and nodded. "I know," he said. McCoy always meant what he said, and he wore his heart on his sleeve. And contrary to what his reactions might lead one to believe, Spock found it to be one of the doctor's best qualities.

"Then tell me why in God's name you refused!" McCoy persisted, the frustration never quite having left his voice. "If there is a reason, I sure don't see it!"

Spock straightened up and swallowed once. "I am a Starfleet officer," he said evenly, "and I am your superior. I have a duty."

"To hell with duty! And to hell with Starfleet!" McCoy burst out, causing Spock's eyebrows to almost vanish under the rim of his cap. "Don't be so righteous," he hissed. "I know you're not above some little insubordination when there's just cause. So why stay now?"

Spock pursed his lips once more and remained stubbornly silent.

"Fine. Keep your secrets." McCoy sighed and turned to go. "And there I thought you were the sensible one."

Spock watched him go, feeling that once more he was in need of Jim's advice on human emotions. He looked up at Pavel Chekov who only bit his lip and shrugged awkwardly.

A hand on his knee made him turn the other way. Christine Chapel was crouching in front of him, having squeezed his knee to get his attention.

Her look was stern but not without compassion. "Tell him, Spock," she said firmly. "He knows. He just needs to hear it from you."

"Because I would have to leave you," Spock repeated, without breaking her gaze. Then he looked up to find that McCoy had stopped, standing with his back to him, waiting for what he was going to say next. Spock sighed. Maybe it was easier this way when he wasn't looking at him. "Because you are my friends," he said. "My place is with you. I could not comfortably save myself if I knew you were in mortal danger."

McCoy turned around. He was still frowning, but when he met his gaze, his expression softened somewhat, and he smiled bitterly. "You're an idiot," he said. Maybe he had wanted to say more, but he was shaken by an abrupt coughing fit.

"Are you all right?" Spock asked when it had stopped.

"Stupid question," McCoy grumbled. "Stupid Vulcan." He turned on his heel and walked ahead, sure that the others would follow.

"You sure you're better?" Christine asked as Spock slowly got up from the stone.

Spock nodded. "I am fine," he said but still took the arm she offered him. "I am merely tired."

Watching him walk alongside her, she thought that this was a definite understatement. It might be true in regards to his little breakdown just now, but in general, none of them was fine, and they were all more than tired.

Up ahead, Pavel was limping slowly along, and Leonard was coughing and wheezing intermittently. Spock wasn't doing anything specific, but his face was just a little too haggard, his look just a little too worn, telling her that the hardships of the past couple of weeks had not left him unaffected. She wondered whether the reason that she could see this was that she had grown more attuned to the signs that he was not well or if he was so unwell that it had become obvious.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, having noticed her watching him.

"No." She quickly shook her head. "Just watching you."

"Ah yes. You seem to enjoy doing that," he said dryly, with a twitch of his eyebrows. Then, meeting her dumbfounded look, cleared his throat and added, "I am sorry."

"Oh, don't be." Having regained her voice, she chuckled awkwardly. "It was funny. I just didn't expect you to be so cheeky."

"I am not cheeky."

"Sure. You're not." She shrugged and turned her attention back to the winding path ahead, smiling to herself, as she caught him looking at her slightly surprised that she had so readily agreed. Oh, how easy it was to confuse him if one knew how. McCoy would have started bickering, and that was what Spock was used to. She liked to bicker once in a while but had found that it was even more gratifying to agree with Spock when he didn't expect it.

For the rest of the walk, McCoy did not mention his gripe with Spock again, and his mood seemed to have picked up, only devolving into a grumble again when he voiced his discontent at Pavel monologuing about his free-time activities with Marie Claire.

But back at the inn, they found out all too soon that he had all but forgotten.

They had been back for a couple of minutes, just having had time to freshen up and meet again in Spock and McCoy's room, when heavy footsteps sounded on the steps.

"What is it, Doctor?" Pavel asked as Leonard peeked outside.

"Shh, wait," he hissed over his shoulder, then poked his head back through the crack. "Ah, hello Lieutenant," he called. "Could I have a word?"

"Sure. Now?" Thompson's grumble answered, and McCoy opened the door, motioning for him to enter.

Thompson stepped inside and took a look at the group of them standing in the middle of the room. "Well, what can I do for you boys?"

"Well, sir," Leonard began, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "I heard you offered Jack Grayson here to go home, and I wondered whether that offer still stands."

Thompson shook his head. "I don't take requests, sorry, Leonard." He turned to go but stopped at what McCoy said next.

"I don't mean me. I mean him." He pointed back at Spock. "Please send him home after all. He can't hear well."

"I know about his ears, already," Thompson answered unfazed. "We've come to the conclusion that he is well enough to stay."

"Yes, but there's more." McCoy licked his lips and blinked nervously, avoiding Spock's eyes. "He has heart problems. His pulse is too fast, his blood pressure too low."

Thompson crossed his arms and smirked.

"In fact," McCoy said quickly, "his heart isn't even in the right place at all." He was pretty sure he had just broken the prime directive, but he didn't care.

"Nice try, Leonard." Edwin Thompson had the audacity to continue smirking. "But he'll stay. His ears weren't even the reason for my offer."

McCoy frowned. "But why?"

Thompson shot Spock a questioning glance, and the Vulcan inclined his head, permitting him to talk about their conversation earlier.

"I offered him to go," Thompson said softly, "because he reminded me of Clark. Because I was afraid he'd develop shell shock. I wanted to spare him that fate."

Leonard only found it in him to nod slowly, his attempt at sparing Spock having been shot down so quickly. And Thompson turned to leave.

"Please wait," Spock said suddenly.

With a sigh of annoyance, Thompson turned back around. "What is it now?"

Ignoring the looks of suspicion by McCoy, Chekov, and Chris, Spock took a step forward. "I request for you to send McCoy home in my stead."

"What?"

Thompson looked calmly back at Spock, ignoring Leonard's outburst. "And why would I do that?"

"He has been coughing for a while and is most probably developing pneumonia if he doesn't have it already."

"It's half as bad as you make it sound," Leonard grumbled. "I'm fine, Lieutenant."

"He is not fine," Spock said, his look never leaving Thompson's face. "And there is more." He pursed his lips, knowing his shipmates would be displeased with him after this. "Paul Chapel has trench foot. Surely that qualifies for being sent home." He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder and met McCoy's and Chekov's eyes, stern and disappointed. He looked at Chris, and she shook her head, looking at him with a warning glare. "As to Chris," he said, trying to look apologetic, "I would not know where to begin." Her glare became a frown, and he looked back at Thompson, raising his eyebrow expectantly.

But Thompson seemed unimpressed. "I can't do that. No one will be sent home."

"But you offered me to be sent home this very morning."

"I did, Jack. That I did." Thompson shook his head. "But I can't do this. If I sent every soldier home whom someone else wanted safe, there wouldn't be an army left."

Spock took another step forward. "You were willing to lose one man this morning. Why not these three? Two people do not make as much a difference."

"Stop it, goddammit," McCoy hissed.

"We are not leaving," Pavel burst out.

Thompson held up his hand to silence them. "No one's leaving," he said. "I know you just want each other safe. Believe me, I understand. But I cannot send you away."

"But why?" Christine asked. She didn't hope for him to change his mind. Thompson was a stubborn man, almost as stubborn as Spock. But this was more than stubbornness.

Lieutenant Thompson looked at each of them before sighing heavily. "I shouldn't tell you," he mumbled. "But now that you've put me on the spot like this, I might as well." He shrugged, making it all too clear that he didn't care if he had been ordered not to tell them. "The Germans bombed the train tracks. There are no reinforcements coming, and no one's going home for a while. I'm sorry." And with this, he turned to go at last and closed the door behind him, leaving behind a tense silence.

McCoy glared at Spock. For what exactly, he didn't remember. But he knew this had started with him being pissed at Spock.

Spock met his gaze and only raised an eyebrow.

McCoy's frown faltered, and then he smirked slowly. Dammit, as infuriating as that Vulcan could be, he had just been trying to do the same as him, sending people he cared about home. He let out a burst of laughter and clapped Spock on the shoulder, so suddenly that the Vulcan flinched.

Christine sat down at the table with a scoff. "You're idiots, both of you."

Spock turned around. "I will have you know that talking to your superior officer in as insulting a manner is insubordination."

"What do you want to do?" Christine smirked up at him. "Give me a dishonourable discharge from the fleet?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I might put it on your record."

Chris shrugged. "I called you an idiot before and you didn't."

"I shall rectify that omission, then."

"Oh?" Christine crossed her arms. "So Leonard's allowed to shout at you, but I can't call you an idiot."

Spock tilted his head, and she thought she saw a smirk flicker over his face. "Oh, as you have proven, you can call me anything you like."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You smartass."

Spock's eyebrow only rose higher, and then he turned to Pavel who had sunk down on one of the beds. "Now, Mr Chekov," he said, "if you would like to add to today's theme of criticizing your superior officer, I am all ears."

"Hm." Pavel looked at the floor, genuinely appearing to think about it.

Spock pressed his lips together and waited, not having considered that he might actually come up with something if prompted. Knowing Pavel Chekov, he should have known better.

"You think too much," he blurted out.

Spock's eyebrow shot up again. "Pardon me?"

"You always need a reason for what you do or even think," Pavel explained, using a tone he usually reserved for his subordinates and that Spock would no doubt not expect from him. But he continued. Spock had asked, after all. "You always have a justification, and if you don't, you find one." Pavel shrugged. "Is it so bad if sometimes you do things just because you want to, or because you have an instinct that it's right?"

Spock seemed to have recovered somewhat. "You are mistaken," he answered with a hint of smugness. "I always have a reason."

"I said nothing else." Pavel smiled. "I simply meant that reasons do not need to be logical to be valid."

Spock frowned and to his shock, did not know what to say but only stared back at Chekov.

"That did it, Pavel," McCoy grumbled after a few moments, "you broke him."

Spock ignored him. Instead, he cleared his throat and, still looking at Pavel, mumbled, "Jim would have said something similar." He raised his eyebrow briefly and then turned on his heel and left the room. From across the hallway, the others could hear the bathroom door closing.

"Did I say anything wrong?" Pavel asked.

Leonard shrugged. "Oh no, you said exactly the right thing," he grumbled. But still, he left after Spock and knocked on the bathroom door. "Are you all right in there?" he asked after a moment of hesitation. One never knew, with this Vulcan.

"I am fine," Spock answered from within, sounding slightly annoyed if anything.

But McCoy wasn't having it. "Really? Why did you leave?"

He could almost imagine hearing a sigh from within as Spock answered, "I had nothing further to say and went to go to the bathroom."

"Well yes." McCoy rolled his eyes. "But what are you doing in there?"

Spock definitely sounded annoyed now. "Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you."

McCoy heard a flushing sound, then the sound of the tap being turned on and off again some moments later. Spock opened the door and stepped outside, looking exasperated.

"You are paranoid," he grumbled, his eyebrow arched in reproach.