Spock did take command of Jim's section. There was no fighting for now. No offensive planned, no defensive necessitated. He assumed his new role calmly but deliberately, making an effort to spend time with his fellow soldiers as Jim had done, even playing cards with them. He went after his duties diligently and soon fell back into the routine of the trenches: morning manoeuvres, breakfast, day-time duties, socialising, foot inspections, evening manoeuvres, night-time duties, trying to sleep to get up at sunrise to begin the cycle anew. To his chagrin, personal hygiene was the hardest to uphold. One, because hygiene in the trenches was generally deplorable, and two, because he just felt very tired.

Thompson, while he was not so much as ignoring him, acted noticeably disapproving towards him, having perceived his words as a betrayal. Spock was not much perturbed by this.

McCoy, too, was less sociable, if for very different reasons. When the two of them sat together to eat, meaning McCoy ate, and Spock mostly watched, they barely talked. Spock honoured that wish for quiet and was secretly relieved that he wasn't asking how he was. And Spock did not ask, either. It would be illogical to ask a question the answer to which was obvious. He kept an eye on McCoy, even making sure he was eating properly. But their few conversations had lost their fire. There were no jibes, no well-meant insults, and no bickering anymore.

He spent more time with Christine than any of the others. It was easier to interact with her, effortless, even. Somehow, she managed to instil a feeling of normality. She never asked how he was, and he knew she wouldn't. She did not give any well-meant advice, only her undivided attention. He never went to fetch himself tea in the afternoon but would often find her waiting for him with a steaming mug on the bench near the bunker before the other soldiers joined them. It was comforting, almost comfortable, to spend time with her.

And even when they weren't spending time with each other, he could feel her looking out for him, silently and unobtrusively. During the night after Jim had died, after having had his confrontation with Thompson and having gone to bed without speaking to anyone else, he had awoken alone in the dugout, just as it had been when he had gone to sleep. But there had been his woollen blanket draped over him that had not been there then, and he had had a distinct feeling that someone had just left the room. He had not pondered on it much and in the morning, the occurrence was as good as forgotten. But these instances repeated. When he retreated to sleep in one of the hollows in the trench wall, he often awoke under the same blanket, and when he was too tired to get under the covers, he would still always awake neatly tucked in. He thought about asking Christine about it when he surmised that she was behind these sneak attacks of affection but ultimately decided against it. If this was how she chose to spend her energy, then so be it. If this was her way of looking out for him, so be it.

"Thank you," he said simply when they were alone on the bench one day, "for the tea."

"You're welcome." She smirked up at him and extended her hand. "Biscuit?"

"Yes, thank you." He took the oatmeal disk and slowly ate it, gazing past the rim of the roof at the sky where a group of birds were flying and chirping. It was Spring. So why did it feel so cold?

"Penny for your thoughts?"

He looked at Christine, and she smiled back. A forced smile, marred by the pain of the last few days but a smile nonetheless.

"I was watching the birds," he said meekly. "It seems to be Spring."

She chuckled softly. "It is Spring. Sometimes I forget the feeling of the seasons changing when I'm shipbound."

"It has been a long time since I stayed on Earth long enough to bear witness to it," Spock said. "Perhaps, when this is over, a visit is in order."

"Where did you think of going?"

"Riverside, Iowa," Spock said, without thinking much about it.

"Of course." Chris smiled sadly. Iowa. Jim's birthplace. "Spock, I want you to know…" She dwindled off as he looked at her expectantly. How could she say this? "I think you should know that we're not comparing you to Jim. We all miss him, but we trust you to do your job well."

"Thank you," he said curtly, and for a moment she wondered if she had said something to insult him. No, not insult. If anything, mention of Jim would hurt him. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"There is nothing for you to be sorry about," he said, looking at her at last. "You are only looking out for me."

"You're noticing that, huh?" She winked at him, and there was a hint of a smirk around his eyes as he nodded. "Well," she said, "I'm doing my best."

But she could not always look out for him, try as she might.

The next afternoon, they did not have tea together, as Spock had been assigned sentry duty with Elliot Baker. And so, he was in the front-line trench, on the fire step, when the artillery bombardment began, disturbing their illusion of sombre peace.

Elliot flinched when the first shells hit a few metres in front of them, and Spock looked at him askance. "We are too far away from a dugout," he said. "We'll have to duck and hope for the best."

"Hope for the best?" Elliot exclaimed. "That's not a whole lot, is it? I'd rather run and get away from here!" An explosion shook the ground, as a shell detonated directly behind them, past the parados—the back fortification of the trench—as if to emphasise his point.

"I consider that unwise," Spock returned, though acutely aware of the pieces of rubble hitting his helmet. This would be a close call.

Another shell exploded nearby but far away enough that Elliot seemed to relax somewhat, sitting down on the fire step.

Spock crouched next to him. "This barrage should not last very long," he called over the rumble. "When there is a pause in the bombardment, we should be able to seek shelter."
He never got to know Elliot's answer to this plan. A massive explosion sounded, as a bomb hit just behind them, barely beyond the parapet, and Elliot jumped up and made a run for it.

"Elliot, no!" Spock leapt after him and got a hold of his sleeve. "Stop, Elliot, you're too exposed in the middle of the trench."

"Let me go, Jack! I won't sit here and wait to die!" He broke free and turned to flee.

From overhead, Spock heard the ominous whistling, and, in the spur of the moment, he hurled himself at Elliot, tackling him to the ground.

As his knees and elbows slammed painfully onto the trench floor, his arms wrapped around the boy's legs, the shell hit the parapet, metres in front of them.

Elliot screamed and fought to push himself off the ground. He started to kick after Spock to get rid of his grip.

"Stay down!" Spock shouted, struggling to keep hold of him. He lunged forward and threw himself on top of Elliot, seeing as he could not be reasoned with. He grabbed his arms and pinned them to the ground. "It's me! Jack!" He shouted, his mouth inches from his ear. "Stay down, I've got you!"

"No, no, you'll kill us both!" Elliot continued to struggle, but Spock was far too strong for him. "We have to get to a dugout!"
"It's too far to make a run for it! Staying in the cover of the parapet is our best bet!" Spock had a feeling Elliot was not listening as he continued to fight him.

Over trying to calm him down, he had not realised the whistling sound had returned. When he did, it was too late. A shell hit the parapet right next to them, and it exploded with a deafening sound. Spock got a fleeting impression of the wall caving in, and he pushed Elliot's head into the dirt as the remnants of the trench collapsed in on them. Sandbags that they had struggled to carry days ago to fortify this section rained down on them. Spock had barely registered the danger before one of them hit him in the back of the helmet, and he was unconscious before his head hit the ground.

When the bombardment ended, Christine was among the first ones in the front-line trench. Spock had not been in the dugout where she had sheltered with Pavel and Leonard, and she had not found him outside after emerging. And then she had remembered that he had been assigned sentry duty.

"Have you seen Jack?" she asked a lance corporal at the junction between the communication trench and the front line.

"Jack?" He asked. "You don't mean to say there's someone under there?" He pointed at the pile of earth, wood, and sandbags.

Christine blanched, and a sudden terror gripped her. "I…I don't know."

Other soldiers moved past, already starting on repairs, and she turned to go. Perhaps Spock had simply sheltered somewhere else. But then, just as she was turning away, she saw it, a hand waving out from under the pile of sandbags.

"There!" she called out. "There's someone buried!"

The men around stopped in their motions and then concentrated their efforts on freeing whoever was lying under the rubble.

Soon, they had lifted most of the sandbags and revealed who was buried. Elliot Baker, breathing heavily, his eyes widened in horror, and lying unconscious atop him…

Christine darted forward and began pulling at Spock together with another soldier. "Oh no, no, no, please, no," she mumbled, tugging frantically.

When he was freed, he lay limply on the trench floor, and for a moment, Christine's breath hitched in her throat. This couldn't be. Not like this.

She bent down and cradled him in her arms, his head falling heavily onto her shoulder. With a sigh of relief, she noticed he was breathing.

"Please. Wake up." She shook him gently, but he did not react. "It's me, Chris. Please, don't let it end like this." She shook him again, stroked his cheek, and squeezed his hands, but he remained unresponsive.

Meanwhile, Elliot had been freed as well. He seemed unscathed and was standing next to her, staring down at them.

"Elliot, help me."

He stared back at her, then blinked. "What?"
"Help me carry him away from here, come on!"
Elliot nodded, and with combined efforts, they picked Spock up and carried him to the bunker, a short distance that seemed unbelievably long. Once there, they took off his helmet and placed him on the table as well as they could, his legs dangling over the edge.

Christine bent over him, ignoring Elliot for a moment. "Wake up, please," she whispered and cradled his face in her hands. "We need you. I need you. Oh, please." She bit her lip, feeling close to tears. On the ship, they would have the means to help him. But here…here, it was doubtful if he would wake up at all. If there was brain damage, it might even be better if he didn't.

She shook off these ugly thoughts and caressed his cheek. "Come back," she murmured. "You're safe. Please, come back." His lips moved, and she had the impression of his eyelids flickering briefly. "That's it, there you are." She took one of his hands into hers and pressed it firmly. "Come on, wake up."
Very slowly, Spock opened his eyes. He immediately looked at her, but he seemed dazed, far away. His lips moved again as if he was trying to say something.

"Take it easy now." She entwined her fingers with his, not daring to squeeze too tightly.

He blinked a couple of times and then mumbled, "I was on the Enterprise."
She took a sharp breath as she met his glazed look. "Sure you were." She tried to smile, but her lips were quivering too much.

"There was light," he continued, "and I was lying in a soft bed. And I heard the voices of our shipmates."

"You were unconscious." She put her hand against his cheek again. "I thought I'd lost you."

He blinked again, and the faraway look seemed to vanish slightly. "My head hurts," he grumbled. "The sandbags…"
"Yeah, they must have hit you on the head. A bit lower and the impact could have snapped your neck with the rim of your helmet." She patted his cheek as he swallowed heavily. "It's okay, now, you just have a concussion. Try not to sleep soon, just in case there's a brain bleed. I don't have the means to rule that out." She smiled warily as she met his horrified look. "I don't think so, though. Everything will be fine." She sighed and straightened up. That's when her eyes fell on Elliot, still standing opposite her. She had all but forgotten he was still here.

"What is this?" he mumbled, looking back and forth between her and Spock.

"What do you mean?" She reached out to him across the table. "Are you all right?"

Elliot smacked her hand away. "Don't touch me!"

"What's wrong, buddy?"

Elliot was unaffected by her gentle tone. "Y-you…and him. Y-you're one of them, aren't you?"

Chris frowned. "Of 'them'? Of whom? Elliot, what's the matter?"

"Don't play ignorant!" he spat. "I've seen how you look at him. And the way you held him, whispered to him."

"I…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," Elliot returned, blushing, and took a step back, away from the table. "You know what I'm talking about. Because you know I'm right. What about the walk you took with him, hanging onto his arm like that girl the day before?"
"Elliot, please!"

He took another step back. "I should have noticed sooner what you are." The usual friendliness had vanished from his eyes, and he was looking at her with an ugly sneer. "You're a homosexual, a sodomite."

Chris stared back at him, and her mouth fell open.

Elliot's eyes glinted dangerously. "Do the others know? Does anyone else know you lie with other men?"

"Elliot," she said slowly, "don't do anything stupid."

"Don't threaten me. I'll do what I want." His eyes flickered towards the exit. "I should tell the Lieutenant."

"Elliot, please. Calm down." She took a step around the table and reached out to him again. "You have it all wrong."

"Keep your hands off me!" he shouted and leapt backwards. "You freak! I don't want anything to do with you."

Chris stepped back, only finding it in her to stare back at him. Elliot, who had always been so friendly to her.

"What's this all about?" a voice from the entrance snapped. It was Lieutenant Thompson, glaring at both of them.

"It's Chris, sir," Elliot burst out, stumbling over his words. "He and Jack, they…I don't know how to say it…"
"Then better don't say anything at all," Thompson said calmly. "I don't want to hear it. Whatever it was, never even mention it again." He did not shout, but Elliot immediately stopped talking and cowered under his glare. "Get out," Thompson said, "both of you."

Chris hesitated but then hurried out of the bunker even before Elliot did. She had wanted to stay with Spock, but she knew what Thompson was doing in sending her outside as well. She had a feeling he knew exactly what Elliot had been talking about. And had he allowed her to remain with Spock, alone even, perhaps, it might have stoked the rumour even further.

Within the bunker, Thompson sank down on a chair and burrowed his face in his hands.

"The wall collapsed on Baker and me," Spock said lamely, not ignorant of the fight that had happened over him. "I tried to shield him."
"I know," Thompson said.

Spock noticed he wasn't looking at him, either because he was still disappointed in him or because of the recent incident.

The Lieutenant procured a medical kit from a corner of the room and did a quick check on him, still not looking him in the eye. "Lie still for a while," he said when he had finished. "Your pulse is extremely high, and your blood pressure seems to be too low. That can't be normal."
"I don't suppose it is," Spock mumbled. He knew his blood pressure and pulse were perfectly normal. For a Vulcan. "I'm still dizzy. Might be because of that." He was silently relieved that Thompson had not realised his heart was not in the same place as his.

In place of an answer, the Lieutenant sighed again and leaned back in his chair. An uncomfortable silence stretched.

Spock waited a few moments, then raised his head to get up, intent to look for Elliot and Christine. There might still be time to smooth things over.

"I said, lie still," Thompson growled and pushed him back down.

Spock sighed.

"I don't like this any more than you do, Jack," the Lieutenant grumbled. "I'm your commanding officer, not your nurse."

"You may go. I assure you I will rest."

"Oh, no, Jack. I know you wouldn't. Ah, McCoy!"

"I can take over, Lieutenant," Leonard wheezed, apparently having run here.

When Thompson had left, McCoy slumped down on the chair. A few moments passed, and when he had found his breath again, he rounded on the Vulcan. "Damn you, Spock. What were you thinking?"

"I was protecting Private Baker," he mumbled innocently.

McCoy huffed angrily. "You could have died."

Spock shook his head, a motion he quickly regretted. "I cannot take the danger of the trenches away."

"I know." McCoy nodded, and he took a deep breath. "Just…Please don't die. I can't lose you as well."

"I am doing my best not to."

"That's what worries me." He frowned down at Spock and took his shoulder as he looked for visible wounds. "Are you in pain? From this and from your earlier attempt to kick the bucket?"

"It is both negligible." Spock sighed in recognition of the facts he could not ignore. "I have quite an impressive headache," he said, looking up at the bunker ceiling, "and my hearing loss as well as the occasional earache depending on external stimuli remain unchanged. There is nothing we can change about that now."

McCoy inhaled sharply, and his hand clenched around Spock's shoulder. "What if we could?"

Spock raised an eyebrow as he slowly turned his head. "What do you mean?"

"Time travel, Spock." He resisted the temptation to shake him. "Time travel. That's what brought us here, right?"

"The details still elude me," Spock said slowly, aware of McCoy's piercing, terribly hopeful, stare, "but there is no doubt that time travel is responsible for this. We have excluded the possibility of a simulation long ago, after all. What are you proposing?"

"When we're back on the Enterprise—when we're back home and know how this happened—we can just travel back in time again and prevent this." A smile spread over Leonard's face. "We can prevent you from getting injured, and we can even prevent Jim from dying. Or, even better, we'll take him home from the moment he would have died. That way it'll still seem as if he'd died and we don't change too much of our history." His smile faltered as he noticed Spock's lack of reaction. "You don't seem to agree with me."

"We mustn't change anything," Spock said, not without compassion. If there was anything he would like to change, it would be the loss of Jim.

McCoy shrugged. "But we could."

"Maybe we could, yes. But that does not mean we should." Spock pursed his lips and sighed again. "Every change we undertake, however inconsequential it might seem to us, holds the possibility of altering the course of history irrevocably."

"But if we remove Jim from this time shortly before he'd have died anyway?" McCoy was persistent, so much was clear. "What harm would there be? He'd be dead to the people here just as he is now but alive in the future, with us."

"I do not know." Spock closed his eyes for a moment, wondering whether his headache was still this bad because of the accident or because of McCoy's questions. "I don't know, and that is the point. We cannot know what happens even if it seems that nothing would." He shook his head apologetically. "We cannot know. We must not ever willingly interfere."

"We've done some meddling before, and sometimes it went well." McCoy slammed his hand on the table. "Hell, we removed a whole woman from the 20th century, and nothing happened. Remember Gillian Taylor?"

"I do." Spock quickly continued before McCoy's look could grow too hopeful again. "And, strictly speaking, it is possible that we would not know whether truly nothing happened or if we simply did not notice any changes upon returning to our present." He paused, and when he saw the doctor was on the verge of disagreeing again added sternly, "And you know as well as I do that sometimes, meddling goes wrong. Remember Edith Keeler?"

"Of course, I do, yes," he mumbled. "It was horrible. You and Jim had to make sure she died as she was meant to, to restore the course of history." He met Spock's gaze, looking for a spark of hope to latch onto and found only grim defeat.

"Once we are back in our time," the Vulcan said slowly, "we must not go back. As we are here now, we have no choice but to interfere to a certain extent but only as far as it aligns with our prescribed roles." His lips pressed into a thin line. There was no way to sugarcoat matters. "We have to minimise our interference to minimise the probability of a fundamental change to history."

"You don't know what to do," McCoy whispered, the shock and astonishment at this discovery reflected in his expression. "You don't know if what we're doing here is already too much for history to handle."

"Yes," Spock whispered back and averted his eyes. "I do not know." After a pause, he added feebly, "I can only guess that if we proceed as we have done, there will be no damage to history, not to this specific portion of it and not to the future, our present."

"Guess?" McCoy grumbled. "Good Lord."

Spock did not say anything. If he could have said something more hopeful, he would have. But short of actually lying, he saw no way to lift the doctor's spirits. Jim had been good at this, at motivating his subordinates, at keeping up morale. Now, more than ever, Spock felt sure that that was a trait he was sorely lacking.

After a while, when he felt less dizzy, he slowly propped himself up on his elbows and prepared to get down from the table.

"Slowly, Spock," McCoy murmured, his hand hovering over his arm. "Don't fall."
"I will manage," Spock said. He slid to the floor and turned to leave, eager to check on Elliot and Chris. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, for he immediately lost his footing and fell to his knees.

"Now, what did I tell you?" McCoy grumbled as he bent down to help him.

"I may have miscalculated." Spock grabbed McCoy's arm with one hand and the table with the other to pull himself up. This time, he took a few moments to get his bearings and waited until the dizziness had vanished completely.

"You all right?" McCoy asked after a while and slowly let go of his arm.

"I am fine now, thank you," Spock said. He took a few tentative steps, and, seeing as he did not fall again, he left the bunker to go looking for Christine, under the exasperated look of McCoy.

He did not have to search for long. She was sitting on their bench a few metres ahead, looking at the opposite wall, appearing lost in thought.

Spock sat next to her and cleared his throat.

"Yes?" she asked. But she wasn't looking at him.

"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. You were the one who almost died."

"Almost," he said. "But I didn't." He tilted his head, trying to get her to look at him.

Not only did she not look at him, but she also remained silent, a stark contrast to her usually open and dare he say flirty attitude.

He slid closer to her and extended a hand to touch her shoulder. "Are you sure you are all right?"

"Stop it!" she snapped and recoiled from his touch. She was looking at him now but with an expression that he had never seen on her or wished to see.

"You are scared," he said slowly. "Why are you scared? You have never been scared of me before."

"You heard what Elliot said," she hissed back, looking along the trench as if she was scared of being watched. "I have to be more careful."

"Elliot is paranoid and inclined to jump to conclusions. It might as well have been an isolated incident."

She shrugged. "Might have been, might as well not have been." She shook her head. "We should stop."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Stop?"

"Stop spending time with each other," she said and averted her eyes again. "We might stoke the rumours, and the risk is simply too great."

"Please clarify," he answered. "I understand that Private Baker thinks you are homosexual. But he is mistaken. You are not a homosexual man. His ingrained homophobia and similar prejudices of this time do not apply to you."

"That doesn't matter," she said vehemently. "Once people have made up their minds, prejudices stick. I don't want to feed the rumour. I can't take that risk." She bit her lip and frowned at the opposite trench wall. "There's too much I have to hide as it is. I am a woman pretending to be a man, and people think I am a gay man pretending to be straight. Remember what you said. You told me to be careful because, in this era, people could find themselves shot for whom they loved. I'm just being careful, and that includes staying away from you." She got up and started to walk away. After a few metres, she stopped and turned around. "Stay away from me, Spock," she said. "It's for the best, for both of us."

Spock pursed his lips. "Do you not think I should have a say in that as well?"

Christine's lower lip quivered as she met his eyes. "I'm sorry," she said and left.