In Our Nature . Book 2 . Chapter 3 . Wish You Were Here

[ninety6tears]

Title: In Our Nature
Fandom: Star Trek (AOS)
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings (overall): Kirk, Uhura, Spock, Chapel, Sulu, Chekov, McCoy, Scotty, mirror-Kirk, mirror-Moreau, mirror-Spock. Kirk/Uhura, Scotty/OC, acknowledgments of a few other pairings.
Summary: After four of the ship's officers never returned from an away mission, Spock reluctantly assumed the role of captain on the Enterprise while mourning the absence of his closest companions. Jim Kirk is meanwhile becoming the Terran Empire's most wanted fugitive in a slowly transforming mirror universe. Both of their fates may be affected by the self-fulfilling prophecy of a man who has very little to lose.
Overall Warnings: Violence (including some torture), secondary character death. This has been a WIP for a long while so it will have some inconsistencies with STID (and obviously contains no spoilers for the second film).
Previous: see SERIES MASTER POST.





"Not to deny the value of your support," Spock said, "but how can you be 'on my side' if you do not believe that what I'm doing is advisable?"

One side of Chapel's mouth quirked as she looked from side to side for a chair to pull up. He quickly pushed the smaller desk chair out from behind the table and she took it, settling across from him. "You're hiding in here eating dinner all by yourself and you wanna act like you're not aware that a lot of the crew is pissed off at you?"

He set his eyes on hers briefly, then said to his soup, "I am not hiding."

"Mm-hmm."

He attempted to give her more of a warning glance, but it lasted briefly before he obligingly offered her one of his oranges.

"Thanks." Only when she was almost done peeling off the skin did she look at him seriously again. "How many transfer requests have you gotten since you brought Kirk on board?"

He could have told her that information wasn't open to anyone who simply asked, given the occasionally delicate nature of transfers. He admitted, "Nine."

Her movements paused. "Whoa."

"Indeed."

She spoke with an incredulous scoff under the surface. "Sorry...I don't know much about these things, but that seems like a big number."

"I can assure you that it is," Spock said with affected mildness.

"Like bad enough that it could reflect badly on you."

"It is not that it could. It is that it will, particularly in consideration of the fact that I will likely approve every transfer. I believe that the ship is still safe with James Kirk on board, now that we know to be exceptionally vigilant. But if others do not agree, that is their right."

Chapel's teeth were working at her lip; Spock was reminded of her old shyness. After a moment she said, "I wanted to tell you that I'm withdrawing mine."

His eyes worked over her in puzzlement.

"My transfer request." She shrugged. "Consider it a vote of confidence."

After a moment of silence, Spock reached for the orange he'd left for himself and began systematically to peel it.

She tossed a wedge of the fruit into her mouth, smiling and mumbling around it, "Stop your floundering, Captain, a thanks would be fine."

He nodded. "Thank you."

Later when they were both walking through the corridor to the turbolift, she said, "But seriously, how careful are we being? This isn't my area, but..."

"There is no need to be apologetic. The entire crew is entitled to know what kind of restrictions are being placed on Kirk. Those who don't already know will eventually be told that he is being held to a very strict allowance of behavior; if he violates any of his restrictions even once, he'll be handled as a severe security threat and the project will cease to have any priority."

"So let me get this straight," Chapel slowly said. "Basically the most important factor in the success of the rescue mission is whether or not that man can be on his best behavior?"

He did not miss, or disagree with, the apparent incredulity in her question. All he could do was nod in confirmation before she turned to catch a lift that was headed to the medical floor.

"Hey. Lunch tomorrow," she insisted just before the turbolift door sealed after her.




Eight days after his arrival on board, Kirk was late to one of the meetings that needed him in attendance to be even remotely productive. Spock cocked an irritated eyebrow which was met with a nervous smile from Chekov, who himself had worked the night shift on the bridge and looked rather rushed-in. Spock tapped the comm system and addressed, "Lieutenant Briani, why has Kirk not yet been escorted to the lab?"

An uncomfortable clearing of the throat came through from the brig comm system, followed by Briani's voice. "We're having a dilemma with Kirk, sir?"

"Kirk is aware of the consequences if he is refusing to leave his cell."

"To be fair, Captain, he isn't actually refusing to leave..."

"Then what is the problem?"

Several minutes later Spock was walking down to the brig room. He passed two members of security who seemed to be in assorted states of embarrassment and promptly walked over to face the one occupied cell.

"Mr. Kirk," he said. "Explain why you have removed your clothing."

He was indolently pacing back and forth with no hint of self-consciousness, entirely in the nude. Spock noticed and then discarded of the fact that he had a tattoo spread across one side of his ribcage, the shape too faint to be made out in the dark of the cell.

Kirk was giving him a whining expression. "That jumpsuit thing is fuckin' itchy."

"You will put it back on or you will not leave your cell today."

This was answered with a small complaining grunt; Spock didn't wait for a clearer confirmation.

"If I am forced to attend to you in such a manner again, I will not be pleased." On the way out of the brig he said to no one specifically, "Have him in the lab as soon as possible."

All of the unique factors considered, the collaboration was going well. Kirk's personality clashed with the professional atmosphere about as much as possible without it being particularly against any policies, but Spock was grateful for the cooperative efforts everyone made to put aside their discomfort with the situation.

Furthermore, Kirk was nothing less than ingenious in his ability to organize ways to make even a lower-ranked officer able to help with testing his calculations. He would have been illogically offended to have it pointed out to him, but he made an excellent, albeit unkind and condescending, instructor. The potential for the project to advance far too slowly no longer plagued Spock's mind; even if the volunteers working on the rescue mission had to momentarily pretend Kirk was the same as their former captain for the sake of personal principles, they were more capable of working well with him than they themselves may have guessed. Still, there was some apparent relief that the plans were to begin an early start on the pod vessel as soon as possible, that being a physical labor many of them could contribute to without Kirk's direct instruction.

It was nearing the time that Spock would have to report to the bridge when he gestured aside Yeoman Feda on his way out of the room. "At your earliest convenience, if you could acquire some reasonably comfortable civilian clothes for Mr. Kirk..."

Kirk quickly looked up and then cracked a sneer, but not before Spock caught the widening of his eyes that gave away a more innocent surprise.

Feda cleared his throat, looking between them. "Uh, parameters? Any particular color?"

"I was thinking light purple," Kirk pondered dramatically, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe a nice seersucker fabric—"

"Black will suffice," Spock interrupted, looking at Feda, who nodded and left. "James, you are done for the day."

The realization nudged at Spock, after Kirk was led back to the brig area, that he had stopped referring to the man by his last name. It was understandably more comfortable, as the former captain had never gone by the full form of his first name. Spock also reasoned that it held a less overly respectful air; given Kirk's consistently petulant behavior, it almost came naturally to address him as one could a minor.

That was the explanation he offered to anyone else who found it strange, and even Sulu quickly accepted the odd rapport as it sparked uncomfortably between James and the captain. Spock responded to it out of necessity, knowing that for whatever reason he had become Kirk's unofficial handler and that James was reportedly more obedient in his presence. In one way or another, they were becoming used to each other.

Months passed.




It was partly at Sulu's subtle but fervent urging that Spock took a purely recreational shore leave on a small but flashy Federation base where the Enterprise was docked for just under a day. He was persuaded by the fact that the "club" was gathering for a party of sorts in a bar where he was told his presence would be symbolically appreciated, though once he was among the drinking and swinging hips in the dim light, he hardly understood how there could be any necessity for his company.

Chapel was there and seemed grateful for his conversation once she tiredly took a seat at the tables. He had found himself a section of the bar that was isolated enough for studying, and at first she only sat nursing a cocktail while smirking at the fact that he was going over some messages about an upcoming away mission. Later on the rumbling bass over the speaker was changed to a quieter variety of what Spock recognized non-specifically as some old Terran music.

"You never told me about visiting Uhura," Chapel remarked after a while.

He looked up at her. "That was quite some time ago."

"Yeah, but it all got swept up under this stuff with Kirk after that." She read his hesitation, though, and asked, "Is there anything to tell? What was she like?"

He tilted his head fractionally. "I don't believe she is going to be rehabilitated in any way. Her attitude suggests that she is resistant to truly joining our world, but not because she is afraid of it. She seems altogether apathetic about whatever society surrounds her."

"That had to be hard," she eventually muttered. "Talking to her."

Spock did not bother to confirm it. After a moment of consideration he replied, "I found myself interchangeably hoping that she would do or say something recognizable, and then dreading that she actually would."

Chapel only frowned in understanding.

Chekov was swaying wistfully in his seat across the room, a couple people chuckling loudly at his drunkenness as he allowed Sulu to pull him out of his seat and do a campy ballroom dance. There was sniggering when they accidentally knocked over a glass. Chapel was smirking slightly when Spock looked back from them to her.

Later he would not remember what possessed him to say yes. Christine stood and took him lightly by the arm. They danced to a slower song that instantaneously had the bar hushed to a calmer tone.

Reminding him of her clinical manners, she took care to position herself against him chastely enough, avoiding contact with his hands. Possibly she did not want the action to be mistaken for any sort of flirtation, but he knew it wasn't, especially not when they began to talk.

"I have never understood the logic of this form of dance."

"It's not really a 'form of dance,' Captain."

"Dance traditionally has some more artful purpose, but when it is improvised, or is simply moving in place as we are doing..."

She let out a small laugh. "You really can be a bore. Sometimes improvisation is the point."

Spock felt hesitant to point out, "I understand courtship is occasionally the purpose."

Her eyes moved up to meet his and then back down to the bobbing space between them. After a long moment, she spoke quietly. "When I was a teenager I volunteered at a center for the elderly...I think you mentioned it being in my records, actually. Anyway, one of the things they urged us to do when we spent time with the patients was to be sure to touch them every once in a while, even if it was just on the shoulder for little moments at a time...You don't really think about it, but when people get old or when they don't have many people in their lives, hardly anybody ever touches them. Most people who aren't so alone, they don't even think about what that must be like."

Spock felt an uncertainty that made him unable to look directly at her; he had avoidantly pulled her just enough closer so that his chin was resting at her forehead. Gently pedantic, he said after a minute, "It would certainly be different for those from cultures that rarely encourage physical contact."

"Of course," she said patiently. He thought he heard her take in the air to say something more, but then she was quiet.

They danced through the rest of the song in silence. Spock did not deny to himself at least that he was having one of many recent moments of weakness, but it was a quieter lack of emotional control; he felt simultaneously comforted and somehow achingly vacant. The tone of the music was limping its own dance across the floor in little summons of nostalgia. He found himself confirming that he was adrift, that he was desperate, that he was unable to recall the particular scent of Nyota's hair.

1 YEAR.

The performance evaluation was met with not only one but several admirals, as was customary when the reports received from the flagship were far less than ideal, and the Enterprise's had been for a while. Spock reported to a round echoing room where the officials scrutinized everything from the disciplinary records to the number of scheduled repairs related to the vessel; he stood and coolly defended the status of the crew in every way he supposed Jim might have done. No one specifically mentioned the controversial presence of James Kirk aboard the ship, but every lingering look of vague disapproval was pregnant with it, even if it was a quieter displeasure that Spock saw in the expression of Christopher Pike.

That particular admiral arranged to see Spock alone in his temporary quarters.

"So are you imagining it's a coincidence that I'm all the way out here?" Pike asked, currently pressing a drink to his temple as if to ebb away a headache.

"I presume you mean that you've taken it upon yourself to attempt some kind of partiality towards my authority over the Enterprise."

"Partiality. That sounds like something you wouldn't approve of."

"Generally, no."

"But in this case."

"In this case, no," Spock clarified tersely.

"You know I'm the one who pulled that little campaign to let you shuffle your crew around rather than send in replacements from the first month we were dealing with this mess. It's almost unheard-of for a first officer to permanently resume captaincy after the captain's death or in this type of situation."

"How many situations exactly like this one have you witnessed in Starfleet?"

"Don't be a smartass."

"Is there a regulation for such a displacement of a senior officer rather than definite death or disappearance?"

"It's the same thing as a disappearance, Spock."

"When we handle disappearances it is a matter of more urgency because the members are likely to be dead," Spock said a little slowly. "We have little reason to believe these four individuals are dead."

Pike looked at him for a long time, with a face that was too tired to look defeated, and said what he seemed to have been trying to say all along. "Your record's not good, and I'll tell you why: You are without doubt the finest science officer I've ever seen or heard of and you make a damn good first, but you are not captain material, Spock. I knew that even when I made you acting captain; if only I'd been insane enough to put you over Kirk's shoulder from the get-go. Only the problem then was that you were so by-the-book you couldn't see around the next asteroid. Your problem now is that you're not going by any book at all but you think you still are."

Spock frowned at an ice cube that settled lower in the glass when Pike set it down. "I don't understand."

Pike let out a sigh, piecing it together in a different order in his head. "You've been doing what you're doing because you want to do it, Spock. Which isn't the end of the damn world, but if you start pretending otherwise, that's when you're playing with fire."

"As I have said repeatedly," Spock said, feeling an irritated jut in his body, "the rescue mission is not interfering with any assigned missions and has a considerable chance of success."

"You took a man very likely to be a killer away from trial so that you could get your friends back," Pike summarized, an unkind impatience setting into him. "And I will not be partly responsible for it ending in disaster, so you need to listen to me. I'm giving you the warning that was not made explicit in that meeting because a lot of people in my position would rather stand back and wait for you to fail: You are on thin ice. You just barely made it away from this evaluation still the commanding officer of the Enterprise. If you don't keep your records spotless for the next year...hell, you know what's gonna happen, but what really matters to you is that you will no longer have any say in what happens to James Kirk, and the project drowns without him, right?"

Spock almost said something, then only nodded.

"So I don't know what you need to do, but if you don't pay attention to virtually everything that's happening on that ship, you could lose it. And if you can't pursue this nutjob idea and be a captain at once, it's time to cut losses."

The comment cut right into an angry part of Spock. He felt a tight surge of simple betrayal, and it showed plainly enough that Pike cut him off.

"Don't you dare try to dissect the way that I've handled this, not you," he barked. "I have seen more than enough get buried to know why it is you can't give up on this. You think I've just accepted that they got killed? That I don't wonder where they are? I don't know if I think this whole plan could work and I don't even want to know how dangerous it is, but I've done everything I can to keep you on that ship and it's because I did not pull George Kirk's son into Starfleet so that he could get sucked into some freak limbo, and if helping you can make me somehow convey to Winona how sorry I am about this whole fucked-up joke, it's what I'm gonna do."

Spock looked down for a moment, and he did not try to think of anything to say.

Pike finally sat back heavily, his expression almost apologetic. After a while he muttered, "Get back to your crew."

For over half of the shipmates their current stop was a brief leave, and many of them were wandering the temperate area with no care for procedural concerns. Spock was entertaining the idea of allowing himself to digest the events of the past two hours by taking a walk and observing the simulated sundown on the rec beach when he received the communication.

"Something happened," Sulu said. "It's not good."

Back on board, the ship felt skeletal with the number of lights that were automatically dimmed with not enough motion to indicate any necessity for them. As he approached the point of the ship where Sulu said he'd be, he heard an echo of not quite loud but strained dialogue between him and Chekov who was idly standing by. At Spock's approach Chekov took a cue to respectfully un-involve himself while Sulu turned to him; from the looks on their faces, Spock mentally braced himself for the news.

"Kirk got out of his cell somehow. Veralis and Donnelly found him messing around somewhere in engineering."

Spock's head managed some acrobatic stunt of rational balance. "Are you positive there isn't some mistake?"

"How could there be? All of his usual handlers are all on shore leave. Nobody else wants to touch him, and why would they let him out in the first place?"

"I assume there was some effort to see how he escaped?"

"Veralis already checked his cage. No sign of force or damage; he must have found some way to hack an exit code at some point when he was out working."

"James never has access to the computer system when—"

"I know. I know, but what else can we assume? He's not going to humor us with any kind of explanation, that's for sure."

Spock thought for a moment. "Why would he do this?"

"He knew there weren't many people on board. He was restless, decided to take a walk and thought he wouldn't get caught." Sulu spoke with the terseness of the furious; he didn't seem able to look Spock in the eye, as if it would be too blinding to bounce off of anyone else's reaction to this.

"Where is he now?"

"In there."

It took Spock a moment to realize that when Sulu pointed down the corridor he was indicating one of the smaller airlock compartments. This was a smart enough holding place; security would be awaiting orders on where to relocate Kirk, as there was no logic in escorting him back to a cell he had already managed to escape from. That clinical line of thinking was the last before he realized he had no idea what he was going to do next. In a couple seconds he was already marching up to the hatch, pressing the button to enter the room.

The very sight of Kirk abruptly made him feel like his bones were seething. "Leave us," he told the three officers who were standing by him, weeding the command down to a blunter "Out" when there was a slightly stunned hesitation.

Kirk's face was colored with a large bruise; it was no surprise that he had been resistant to security. However, nonsensically, he looked almost as angry as Sulu had looked. Spock heard the hatch seal behind them.

"Explain to me why you did this," Spock demanded.

A hesitation, Kirk's eyes darting away from Spock's face to the floor before meeting them with a pathetic fraction of their usual defiance. "I don't know."

Spock glared.

"I don't know, alright. I got crazy, I was feeling restless." It sounded like some defeated plea for Spock to come to his own conclusions. "I didn't fuck up anything on the ship—"

"No, what you have—" Spock took in a breath, "—'fucked up' is our entire mission. Are you going to tell me you have not just done so deliberately? Was all of this what you intended from the beginning, only to delay your prison time?"

Kirk took a few steps back, his defeated sulk charging hotter.

Spock almost couldn't dare to ask, but it had to be asked, now that he was forced to coldly contemplate the facts. Kirk had been taking somewhat longer than he'd anticipated to be able to confidently state he could make the dimensional device operate on a bigger scale than the science department's testing fields; Spock had not monitored the progress closely enough, he feared. "Do you even believe that the execution of the project is possible?"

"Of course it's possible!" Kirk flung back as if he'd been profoundly offended. "You have got the wrong idea, man! This was just one fucking mistake."

"You know fully well you can only make one."

Kirk was just now registering the punch, and he was almost shrill when he exclaimed, "What, you're just dropping this!? You know you can't make this work without me, Spock, if you want to get them back—"

"I want it more than you can comprehend, but I also must look after the rest of this crew. They do not feel safe with you on this ship, which is why I offered you a place aboard only under strict conditions, two of which you have managed to violate in one evening. We are done, Kirk."

It took Spock completely by surprise: A growling gravity of some emotion came over Kirk. His tone was flat and controlled but there was a shade of desperation. He could not allow himself his own resigned silence. "What can I do?"

"No, James." Spock gave a shake of his head, would not look at him. "There is nothing."

"Fucking...dammit, I barely even did anything." Kirk looked around as if he was looking to kick something, and he turned back to Spock crazed with anger. "And now you're making me out to be a goddamn liar, you pompous...half-nape piece of—"

"How preposterous of me," Spock said with unusually dauntless sarcasm. "To presume a murderer would be capable of lying."

"You don't even know for sure if I killed your crew member—!"

"You killed a number of people in the process of escaping from prison."

"Other prisoners; other killers. What's it to you? You think anybody on this ship would give a single fuck if you strangled me right here and walked out?! You gonna tell me your precious old captain never offed anybody because he had to make that call—?"

The interruption was snapped low: "You do not know what, or who, you are talking about."

"Well, you don't know who I am so you can kindly get fucked, Spock. I'm done letting you wipe the floor with me if you're not going to give me another chance."

James was truly and honestly asking for his trust. For the moment Spock understood the proverbial exaggeration about conversations being able to make people dizzy. "Even if I wanted to do that, I could not."

James perked up his eyes. "Is that really a hundred percent true?" he said, expression dubious. "...Come on, is it?"

"I would face losing the trust of my crew."

"It's not gonna be your crew much longer if the mission goes as planned."

"It will always be my crew, James. This is more than a matter of command politics."

"Assuming that I've been lying to you this whole time," he slowly said, "how could I have shown you the preliminary plans in the mind meld without you picking up that something was off?"

It was a clever question, but Spock gave it an expression of doubt. "If you had some knowledge about mind melds, you could have trained yourself to study the plans thoroughly enough that they did not register as some instrument of deception."

James rolled his eyes at that. Spock considered for a moment.

"If you consented to another meld..."

"No. No, I don't think so."

Spock lifted an eyebrow, his agitation rising again.

"I don't want you poking around in there, no way."

Spock examined James for a long moment. "Why?"

He refused to answer for a moment, and then all he had to say was, "I wouldn't have taken you for a pushy date."

In hindsight, Spock was surprised it had taken him this long to understand that James made tasteless jokes as a means of pushing untouchable matters aside. He squinted across the room at him for another few seconds, and then the recollection flooded in. "The one time I melded with you, there was something I nearly saw at the end of it that you were extremely uncomfortable with."

That was met with a bland pout. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The feeling of it was deeply regretful."

James shrugged coldly. "You're making it up. You misinterpreted something. I don't know."

"If I am fabricating this, then what is your reason for being so apprehensive?"

"So it's a trade-off, is this what you're saying? I gotta do this for you to even try to go to bat for me? Because it's still not gonna happen."

"Be reasonable," he said. "What do you stand to lose from it? It would certainly be less than your freedom, James."

Kirk's eyes were darting about his surroundings again, and Spock realized with a small shock what he may have been thinking but not giving away his cards by replying: As if I'd tell you this while I'm standing in an airlock. A black murky curiosity was now surging through Spock; somehow this was no longer just about what had happened that evening.

Kirk was gathering a couple wits together, perhaps realizing the logic of Spock's question. He finally delivered an icy smirk. "You know what? If you're so convinced this thing is skulking around the corners of my head, let's see what you got. If you find it, you can have it." He tapped at his temple with one finger.

Spock shook his head, more in disbelief than refusal. He insisted, "You know what it is. You could simply tell me."

But Kirk shook his head back at him and repeated, "If you find it, you can have it."

Spock only wasted time hesitating for a couple seconds, but the moment when he stepped forward hitched up the air as if some threat had just been made, Kirk's bravado dissolving as he appeared to want to step back before clenching his fists at his sides. In the end he merely propped his hand to the wall he was close to. As abruptly as a punch or a kiss or an embrace, Spock stopped in front of him and placed his fingers at his temple.




Spock was sitting against the back wall of the transporter pad and he was alone.

He remembered well over a year ago when he had felt the first taste of his emotions spinning wildly out of control, when he'd walked with the tingling fade of his rage to this room to simply stare at the circle guides on the transporter floor, willing them to somehow belatedly produce his mother from some imagined ether.

Nyota had once translated a proverb for him: "To recover from grief is to make the world vow to you that it will never wound you in that way again. It will break its promise. You will believe the promise again."

For the moment he was grateful that there were so little people on the ship, as he wasn't sure how he might feel if someone caught him in such an apparently melancholy state as dwelling in the transporter room. There were already a couple members of security who would be grimly curious about what had just transpired, but none of them had asked.

After Spock had found that guarded thing, he'd cut himself clean out of Kirk's mind like pulling a hand from something white-hot. It had taken a staggering level of effort to do nothing more than throw him into the wall by a grasp at his shirt collar, perhaps shoving him out of his space in order to avoid his shaking temper getting the best of him. Spock had abruptly left, only curtly explaining that Kirk would not be dropped from their custody at this point in time because he was not satisfied with the probable amount of effective security on the closest fleet base.

He'd intended to go to his quarters and meditate for the rest of the evening. Instead he had found himself here.

The door slid open; Spock was surprised but somewhat relieved that it was Chapel. Her hair was done up in a more complicated way than usual, but the rest of her was in sweats.

With anyone else, Spock might have immediately assumed some formality in order to distance himself from his present state, but all he could manage was, "I thought you had taken leave."

"I just caught the last shuttle. I got stood up by this guy and I was in a bad mood, so I was only going to head straight to bed, but..." She gave an overwhelmed expression with her hands, indicating she'd heard a few things. "I'm thinking your night was a lot worse than mine."

His eyes looked forward tiredly. After a second she walked over to the pad and up the steps, taking a seat just next to him.

"I have just found out something about him," Spock angled hesitantly. "If I had known it from the start, I would not have let him on this ship."

"The problem isn't that he escaped his cell?"

"That is the problem for the rest of the crew. What I have just learned is the problem for me."

She considered for a moment. "Is it anything he's done to us?"

"No. This was not committed in our universe."

"Well, you need to let it go then." He must have looked rather surprised by that. She said, "I'm not telling you to say it doesn't matter, no. But if we were willing to let him roam free as long as it wasn't in our world, we chose to exile him, not control him or punish him. And you've got to accept that how good or bad he is has nothing to do with us because it isn't your responsibility...And that you can't exactly begrudge or forgive him because none of it is yours to forgive."

Spock looked over slowly, his eyes searching hers. "What has led you to believe that I would want to give him any kind of pardon?..."

She shrugged, unwavering in her point. "You wouldn't be so ticked off right now if you hadn't let yourself believe that there was some kind of hope for him. And I get it, I really do. He's just enough like Jim for it to be like walking on glass just to look at him; I wasn't even close to the captain and I hate it. But...I don't know if you want to hear this from me right now."

"I welcome your honesty."

She let out a sigh of hesitation first. "I think somebody needs to tell you that your authority will be seriously damaged if the reason we're leaving this base with Kirk is because you're thinking about letting him stay."

"I am not."

"Just listen. If you actually let this slide, the majority of the crew will be confused, or they'll be annoyed, because they don't know you well at all. But the rest of them...the ones who know how much you probably miss Jim? They're going to think that you've been taken in. That he's somehow charmed you into believing he's not that bad, that he's hitting all your weaknesses and he's got you eating out of his hand."

It was a brief moment before he spoke a bit heavily. "You are informing me that there are people among this crew who believe that I am friends with James."

She looked away with a slight grimace. Now that it was directly expressed, Spock felt that he'd overlooked what was obviously too enshrouded from the majority of the crew to not be heavily speculated upon: The hours that Kirk spent with Spock, occasionally alone as they'd been contributing a lot of work to the pod vessel late into the night for lack of anything more useful to do, could be mistaken as almost companionable.

"In the future when you are aware of this kind of problem, I would appreciate if you would tell me sooner, even if it is not strictly your duty to do so." She had her mouth hanging slightly open in an unworded uncomfortable protest. As if reading her mind, he said, "It would not be an imposition. I consider you a valuable friend."

Her eyes met his in a snap, then looked away, as she struggled to reply.

"In fact," he realized, "at present, you are in some ways my only friend."

She sighed and after a second her face seemed to battle between a frown and a sad smile. "Same with me, actually."

He blinked in consideration. "I find that difficult to believe."

"I almost tried to tell you before when I put in for the transfer...I wasn't trying to meet anybody for the longest time on this ship. The main reason I enlisted for space travel was because I had figured that my relationship was doomed to fail and I thought that putting several planets between us would make for something prettier to blame it on than the fact I barely recognized who he was anymore..." She shook her head slowly. "Then one day I get the message that Roger's dead and it's like the entire damn solar system out the window is the carpet getting yanked out from under me. But then, Uhura...that aloof Uhura who goes by her last name even with some of her friends..." She paused to laugh. "She told me to come by if I needed a shoulder, and that was that. But now that she's gone..."

The pause cracked in the air.

"I've never been good at picking up on what makes me happy. Not only did I barely register that she was my best friend, but I guess I always took for granted that if something like this happened I'd show up at Leonard's office and get us both drunk until he could think of something helpful enough to say. But he's not here either."

Her voice was laced with the bitter redundancy of that last statement, which he blandly parodied with, "I had not noticed his absence, though I did wonder how the performance of the medical crew had so abruptly improved."

Christine laughed, in one little bright note. And then she started to cry.

For a matter of seconds she attempted to hide it and Spock made no motions. But then he lifted his arm in a subtle invitation, and she tilted in to rest her head into the crook of his shoulder, her legs drawing up so that she looked smaller; he was reminded of what he had observed before in the simple language of consolation among human children. She was mumbling, "I felt like we were so close, you know...that we'd actually get them back. I don't know if we could have done it, but dammit..."

Finally Spock soldiered himself into an attempt at consolation. "The loss of something is not directly a punishment for failing to realize its value."

"Not really," she muttered. "But it can sure as hell feel like it."

An announcement came over the general comm, somebody in engineering requesting an ensign. The ship still felt cloudy and vacant.

"Can I ask you something?" Christine said.

"If you wish."

"What was the actual status of your relationship?" Her voice had dropped, as if they were in the mess hall talking about something delicate rather than alone. "You know, you and Nyota. I think to some people it was obvious, but I remember getting the impression it was this on-again-off-again thing. Like, one or both of you would cut it off because it was a bad idea, but then some intense high-risk mission would come along and you'd just forget about all that."

For a long moment it may have seemed like he was never going to answer, as deeply thoughtful as he was. He finally said, "It was never what you might call official, at least not for any long period. Yet it never seemed to be over. We knew and trusted that we cared deeply for one another. That was what could be said for our relationship and in many ways it was enough. Though naturally I was raised to be more accustomed to very formal parameters in courtship and I was never fully comfortable with the uncertainty of it."

He paused to simply remember it, remember her. Christine was breathing next to him more peacefully now.

"I suppose that was the reason I asked her to marry me."

Christine sat up. "...When?"

"It was six days before the away mission. She had not yet given me her answer."

"...Oh my god." She seemed to school her mouth against hanging open before simply putting her hand over it for a second. "Spock. Oh my god."

"It was an unfitting way I had chosen to express something it had been fitting to confess, and it was not the best time, but I cannot say I regret having asked now."

Another moment passed as she shook her head. Eventually Christine asked in a careful way, "You still feel the same way? After all this time?"

He slowly, simply said, "I know and trust that we care deeply for one another. And, that is all that can be said."

She frowned back at him for a moment, and then with something resigned in her, she put her head back down to his shoulder in more of a loose lean this time.

"Do you believe what some of the crew believe?" he asked her after a couple minutes. "About myself and James?"

"I've told you what I'm sure about; that you want him to change. I never thought it was more than that, but at the same time...I guess I do worry."

He couldn't have articulated why he wanted her to know this. "If I truly wanted to be able to forgive him, I have reason to believe I could."

"Why?"

"...Because James was regretful of what he did," Spock said. "More precisely: He was ashamed."




The fleeting sense of serenity between crises was interrupted the next day when Sulu marched into Spock's cabin with a stiff agitation and no kind of greeting, carrying his compact PADD which he slid in a carelessly blunt way onto Spock's desk.

"Have you seen this?" he demanded. Spock only reached for the PADD and Sulu took his lack of already knowing what he could be referring to as a no. "It's Chekov's witness report of the incident with Kirk. I've already asked him to meet us here if that's alright with you."

Sulu must have requested an early start on the reports, something Spock would have done if he was more neutrally disposed to the subject. He barely had time to look into his personal files for his own copies before his cabin door slid open to reveal a reluctant Pavel Chekov whom Sulu ushered in with a mildly impatient gesture.

"What the hell, Pavel?"

"I know, sir." Chekov, who usually only called Sulu "sir" in private under a friendly sort of sarcasm, said it in a gruff apologetic way now.

"You didn't think to say anything about this last night?"

Chekov blinked in a look of earnest confusion that faded to something nervous or chagrined. "Uh, well, you would know that policy prohibits any interpersonal discussion of any incidents like this until the individual reports have been reviewed by the highest officers on board, if not a higher admiralty."

Apparently Sulu had at least half forgotten this fact. He gave a blank sigh and then said, "We're gonna have to consider this the review. It's up to the captain, but I'm definitely not eager to let this information leave the ship."

"Ensign Chekov, I have yet to view any of the reports," Spock evenly interjected. "I need a comprehensive summary of the events you witnessed."

For a moment Chekov could only look about to splutter into a story that had no graceful beginning; Spock realized the ensign was not sure he would be believed.

In what seemed a gesture of impatient mercy, Sulu declared, "It would seem, from what Chekov witnessed, that Veralis, Manning, and Wade dragged or lured Kirk out of his cell so that they could assault him."

Spock's command senses kicked up, making him demand of Chekov, "Is this true?"

"There may have been others involved, sir, but...what I saw was two of them holding him down..."

"Jesus," Sulu said. "Did anyone else see?"

"No. They don't know that I saw anything other than what looked like them attempting to apprehend him, which of course supported their story, so they weren't worried about me. That was the other reason I waited; I thought they deserved a chance to be honest..."

"You are as of late the most commendably professional officer among the bridge crew, Ensign," Spock said. "I will send another communication if I need any further embellishment on your report."

A little startled by the sudden dismissal, Chekov nodded and left just after exchanging a look with Sulu.

Once they were alone, Spock let a moment drag past without saying anything to his first officer, who was stuck in a position of crossed arms with his mind traveling through some angered daydream.

"Hikaru."

The use of Sulu's first name seemed to surprise him into more of a tired calmness. He came a few steps forward, untangling his arms in a helpless gesture. "What the hell is happening to this crew?"

"...I am aware it's agitating to answer rhetorical questions, but I am compelled to answer nevertheless. Sit down." He slid forward a pitcher of water and got out a glass for Sulu, who accepted it with a twitch of his mouth. "I owe it to the best crew I am ever likely to work with to no longer package these facts in euphemisms, if it could be said I ever thought I had the need to. Approximately a year ago we lost a crewmember to an ambiguous murder committed by one of a group of prisoners who escaped; months later, I invited one of those people, who I knew fully well was a dangerous man, onto this ship for the purpose of helping me construct a near-miracle which I hoped to attain out of some amount of a sense of duty but mostly out of sheer emotional necessity."

Across the desk Sulu was sighing.

"As an amalgamation of general attitude, it can be said that this vessel currently has no captain, or at least that the captain could not be me. What is happening is that this crew no longer trusts me."

"You don't know that." Sulu shook his head. "You don't know that. Not everybody feels like that."

"I do hope, but doubt, that your assumption is right." Spock stood. "We may further discuss this at a later time. Computer, locate Lieutenant Veralis."

All three of the officers reported to have been involved were known to spend much of their recreation hours together, which conveniently put them all just outside the gymnasium at that time. The area was mostly empty but for them when Spock came steadily marching up and demanded they stand at attention. All three were wide-eyed in surprise at the sudden command presence, but stiffened up obediently.

"I have been told that the three of you were involved in a deliberate assault on one of our ship's prisoners. I have this on a neutral and reliable perspective so I will charitably advise you to be thoroughly truthful."

The cut-down expressions confirmed everything, Manning's the only face that looked a little paled. The other two seemed most likely the instigators: too angry to be remorseful.

"A confirmation will suffice," he prompted.

A response finally came from Wade: "That bastard killed Lillie Freeman. Thanks to you he was never tried for it, but we all know he did it. You put him on this ship and you expect—"

"I expect my crew to prove themselves a better example of a just civilization than he is, which all of you have failed to do." He took a moment to glance evenly at all three. "I need no enlightenment of what that man is capable of doing. What I need to know is whether he was responsible for his own removal from the brig."

"I programmed the security system to unlock, sir," Manning admitted. It seemed to take her great effort to elaborate to the next part, and then she said a little wryly, "As far as I could tell Kirk was only going to go get something from the replicator when he realized the door was open. Maybe it's been a while since he had a good beer."

With a pissed-off squint, Veralis said, "He was not going to—"

"Enough," Spock said. "According to the witness, Lieutenant, you were the main assailant. Can you admit it would be fair to hold you mostly accountable for these actions?"

With a sigh Wade admitted easily enough, "It was both of us. You should go easy on Manning; she wasn't into the idea."

"I'll have her opinion on the events. You and Lieutenant Veralis are currently on suspension pending court martial. I presume you can escort yourselves to the brig." As they gritted their teeth and began to walk stiffly off, he added, "Send my regards to Kirk."

Once it was the two of them, Manning swallowed and put on even more of an air of regret, as it she'd been obscuring it for the presence of her friends. After a hesitation she managed to protest, "Veralis and Freeman were very close."

He gave that a neutral nod.

"Jeremy got some bad news that day, everyone was in a rough mood, and when they got to thinking about how empty the ship was..." She shook her head at herself. "They suddenly realized what they might get away with, since nobody would believe his account of anything. And I didn't really have time to stop them...Even if I'd said I would directly tell you about it, it wouldn't have stopped them. They think he killed Lillie; it's as simple as that. And I'm willing to add that they're probably right, sir."

"Were you aware that there was a witness of the events when it was more clear that Kirk was being attacked?"

She frowned. "No."

"For your failure to divulge any of this, I'm suspending you as well. You're confined to your quarters for the next 36 hours and will report to me for an unofficial hearing in two days."

"Thank you, sir." She nodded and left.

A moment later he'd found the nearest computer that was discretely located, and designated the communications to summon Christine. He explained the situation to her as briefly as possible. She, unlike Sulu, said what hadn't been said.

"But..." She stammered, "Kirk said nothing to you about this? He just sat there and let you assume—?"

"He is a very intelligent man," he reminded her. "He did not bother because he knew that I would not believe him. Now I must ask you something. You are not currently scheduled to work in medical bay if I am correct..."

"No. Why?"

"I have to request that someone from sick bay confirm that Kirk is not seriously injured."

It was asking a substantial amount. He knew she had no desire to be so personal with Kirk, but with how easily she replied, one might have hardly guessed. She said, "I can do that, yeah."

"Thank you, Christine."

After Spock ended the transmission, he contemplated the implications of his actions and found himself troubled by them, and furthermore troubled that he did not seem quite troubled enough. Even in his moments of being the most accepting of his typically human traits he had never considered his ability for denial a desirable one, but at the moment he was far from denying the subtext of the exchange. If Kirk's injuries turned out to be more serious than he had presumed, the first medical officer who became aware of it would be technically required to report his delayed access to care as an inhumane negligence. Spock would not ask Christine to break the rules for him, and yet in a way he just had done so by specifically asking her to do the examination.

Many would consider bending the rules in this situation to be somehow subjectively fair, Spock knew, but he did not believe it was. Even if Spock estimated that the worst injury Kirk could have sustained was a bone fracture and his life hadn't been put at risk by the neglect, the fact that it had not even occurred to Spock that the cause of his wounds was anything other than his initial assumption spoke volumes about the depth of his recent weakness of mind. Surely there were other examples of ways in which he had become too lenient and too distracted, even forgetful.

His calculations of time had become even more emotional. He seemed to have little care for anything but how much had passed since the four had disappeared, and for the vague number of the time until they just might be recovered. One of the most elementary exercises in recognizing and suppressing emotion that was taught to young Vulcans was that time must never seem to move faster or slower. Speed of time suggests light emotions, slowness suggests dark; the path of logic is marked by a steady ever-constant stream.

He realized in a sudden quiet consternation that even if he had anyone from the past at his disposal, be it Nyota or Jim or his mother, and even if he spoke to Christine or attempted a more personal rapport with Sulu, he had no ideal source of advice for his current dilemma. It was simple enough to encourage a Vulcan to embrace his emotions, but to advise on or even understand the tension and delirium this produced was impossible because so few Vulcans ever did. It was an admittedly painful epiphany, that Spock may have behaved within the past many months in a way that might make a person who had encouraged his passions to ruefully realize the precariousness of them. Jim had been one of these people, and Spock had no way of knowing if he was still a good enough officer or a good enough man to be his second-in-command, much less currently in possession of the captain's chair.

It was when the Enterprise's next instructions from Starfleet arrived that the consoling possibility occurred to him: If he could not seek the advice he needed from anyone from the past or the present, perhaps he could in someone from the future.




Spock observed not for the first time that the brig was truly one of the darkest areas on the ship; there was sunlight outside when the Enterprise docked, but one would never know the difference. It may have only been a confirmed assumption that Kirk looked exceptionally restless when the cell door slid open for Spock's entrance; he was shrugged back against the glum corner and busy with biting a thumbnail.

Something changed in him once Spock entered: a change which he was trying to hide but was nonetheless apparent. Kirk avoided his gaze in a way that for once reminded more of an embarrassed child than of a petulant one. He would have known as soon as he'd been relocated back to the brig cell that Spock knew what had really happened with the security team, but that had not made Spock expect this kind of behavior from him at their next meeting.

Finally Kirk looked up at him, eyes calm.

"You will accompany me planetside," Spock said.

This was clearly not what he'd expected to hear; his mouth quirked in confusion and Spock could see a dry comment forming fast.

"You will be chaperoned by a trustworthy member of security, and by myself when I am disposed."

He turned to prepare for his own departure without bothering to tell Kirk where it was they were stopped. James, in all the time of being escorted to the transporter room and waiting for Spock and then yawning at the ensign who had to pause to align his chronometer to the planet's time, apparently did not ask. He didn't seem in the mood to anticipate much of anything, but the lack of inquisitiveness from the usually mouthy inmate was oddly jarring.

Something grumbled in annoyance through Kirk's eyes once they had beamed down and walked far enough for him to realize they were among one of the new Vulcan colonies.

The two of them had actually discussed the future of the surviving Vulcan culture on one occasion while engaged in half-hearted but curious conversation late at night in the hangar bay. Spock had explained the divide that had shown its face among the Vulcan survivors almost the instant the people had begun their efforts to rebuild. A number of Vulcans, believing they needed time during their grief to focus on their spiritual priorities, had rejected the prompt utilitarian efforts of the other percentage to immediately encourage repopulation, the latter so insistent in this goal that they wanted to have the newly widowed remarry as soon as possible. Slightly less than half of the population, including most of the remaining mind healers in existence and also Spock's father, had remained on Terra for the time being; the rest were here on these dry plains that some might call the "back yard" of a small but resourceful and apparently charitable local colony.

Kirk had remarked that this seemed a cultural divide that could over time resemble as wide a gap as now existed between Romulan and Vulcan societies, and that that must have troubled Spock; at that point Spock had discontinued the conversation.

The official purpose of Kirk being allowed leave was that it had been recommended for his health; the security officers were obediently willing to simply let him sit outside and have the fresh air for a while. Spock left them to cross a small windy courtyard into the one tall and solid structure the colony had to call a conference building, checking that he was not too early.

There was only one Vulcan who had taken residence in this colony with whom Spock was acquainted, and Spock did not believe he was there in agreement with it, but rather as an innocent pretense that made him available to study its progression and perhaps solidify an identity in entirely new company.

"Captain Spock...I believe something in your appearance has changed," the older Vulcan said in greeting. They were paused in the middle of the welcome center, Spock holding his arms behind his back.

Spock was reminded of the man's affinity for artful statements: There should have been nothing notably different on the surface of him, but he knew what he'd meant. He said, "Yes."

The ambassador's modest suite within the premises had a generous window that looked out on the courtyard. A fireplace was crackling from across the room as Spock accepted a glass of water from his older counterpart.

"I will admit I have been troubled about the information that is circulating about what you intend to attempt," the ambassador said, and something in Spock bristled, perhaps unfairly, as he waited for him to keep speaking.

But the other seemed attuned to this response and fell into a quieter tact.

"Spock." The ambassador said it like it wasn't his own name anymore, like he didn't hear the word often enough to identify with it now. "You and I have not spoken since the accident, but I assure you that the news was devastating to me. I understand what you are feeling."

Spock felt as if he could predict the next part, that this was bitterly similar to his recent communications with his father, the attempts to promise he won't be this way forever, that grief must be traversed rather than undone. There was the never-ending implication that Spock had been unable to accept the more recent loss because it had been painful enough to see his mother ripped away. At most times he was able to deny this. And yet he could not so much as speak to his father without wondering if it had almost everything to do with her. He replied, "I respectfully doubt that you can completely understand."

The ambassador was stepping closer to demand, "Then would you tell me how it feels?"

It felt somehow preposterous for him to ask the words of him, and Spock almost wanted to say so. He looked over and didn't realize he was about to answer until he clumsily croaked, "Unfair...It feels unfair."

The older Vulcan just nodded.

"There are a great number of people who believe my actions are irrational. Those with an emotional perspective even think that I have taken this to an unacceptable level of obsession...I fear that if that were true I would not be able to stop. Perhaps I came here because I believe you are the best judge of my character." Spock concluded, "I would have your advice, ambassador, but not your pity. And certainly not your condolences, for I believe that the four are alive."

After a moment of contemplation the ambassador replied, "I find myself even at an old age not very accustomed to dispensing advice that is any more complicated than what is clearly in the receiver's best interests, but I will not attempt to persuade you out of something when I more than anyone should be able to tell when you are resolved. Your interests are no longer that of a Vulcan, no longer based on wisdom and survival alone. You have in a surprisingly short time come to push outside the boundaries of our particular logical nature, and it would seem a purely human piece of wisdom is all I can give you."

Spock looked down out the window; James Kirk was lounging on a stone bench by the spring outside, secluded and bored, but not without that look of his that was the look of a man attempting to reject his own deeper musings.

The ambassador said, "I would tell you simply to be sure not to do anything that Jim Kirk would not do. Only..."

"Only I have already broken that maxim?" Spock interrupted, his eyes not straying from the restless Kirk sitting outside, knowing the other was probably following his gaze.

"No."

Spock was surprised by that calmly certain word and turned his eyes directly back to the ambassador.

"No. I was about to say that you, being as young as you are, having as little time at your captain's side as you have had, are most likely only able to grasp a mere inkling of what he would have done, what he was capable of doing...if it were for somebody of great meaning to him."

Spock softened in a curious response to the words, to the way there was a remembering look in his counterpart's eyes.

His older self answered the unspoken question that must have been in his expression with only the slightest nod, his voice plain with devotion to its truth. "If it were for you."

After that Spock was left alone by the window as the older Vulcan set about making his tea in thoughtful silence.

He had not, even in his most eager acceptance of Jim Kirk as a closest friend and of his place aboard the Enterprise, accepted the concept of destiny, or that he was in any way beholden to align his life to whatever his counterpart could tell him of his parallel past. As he looked out and examined the irregular mannerisms of the man who shared a face with his stranded friend, he felt once and only then an affinity with the double, for what James must have been told by the man who in this world only wanted to tell Jim to be Spock's friend but in another life gave him a cold warning. He wondered if they could share the sentiment that "fate" often seemed like a crueler word than any other.

Spock quietly finished the tea that had been handed to him and then thanked the ambassador for his counsel. It was morning for most of the crew members, but he had not slept for nearly two days. He decided to retire to the ship and to his quarters, and he hoped, after some sleep and a little more time, that his plans would be as ripe and ready as Jim's had usually been.






..to be continued..