Thanks for sticking with it, everyone! Almost four years, and this baby is done. Hope you enjoy!

Leonard stared at Jim. Sure, the kid looked better, but a glance at the chrono told Leonard that only four hours had passed since Jim had dropped off. Not nearly long enough to begin recovering from what he'd been through.

"Jim, what are you talking about? I thought you agreed to drop it until you healed!"

Jim looked pained. "I know, but Bones…" he looked down and began to pick at the edge of the sheet. It was a small tell, but one Leonard recognized instantly. Jim's fingers couldn't be still when he was distressed. He'd pick at whatever was near– the edge of a table, the cuff of his shirt, even a cut or scab. Leonard's eyes tracked impulsively to the faint scar at Jim's hairline, above his left eye– a nick that had turned into a nervous habit and taken Jim months to kick. Leonard had been able to tell the weight of Jim's day by the amount of blood crusted under his fingernails.

Leonard rubbed his face. "You can't sleep, can you?" he asked resignedly.

Jim shook his head, looking chagrined. "I promise I tried. But every time I close my eyes…" Jim grimaced. "I see his face when he got back from Vulcan and realized his mom was gone. And after…he ceded command. I just– I gotta talk to him, Bones. I won't be able to rest until I make this right."

Leonard sighed. He should have known better– even since they met, Leonard had known that Jim would never let something fester. He was stubborn as hell if he thought he was right, but he owned it instantly if he really messed up. It was something Leonard had always admired about him. Thing was, he didn't think Jim was necessarily in the wrong this time. But he also knew that same stubbornness could apply here too.

"All right, Jim," Leonard relented. "But he's coming here. And as soon as you feel worse, you tell me, got it?"

Jim nodded contritely. "Yeah, Bones. Thanks." He shifted, propping himself up on his elbows and pulling the blanket off his legs.

Leonard raised an eyebrow. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

Jim looked up at him, something pleading in his face. "Bones, I'm not talking to him from a fucking bed. I already feel like an invalid, but I'm fine. Please, just let me get the hell up."

Leonard resisted the urge to smack him. "Don't be an idiot, Jim. I know you don't want to look vulnerable in front of the hobgoblin, but he's already seen you unconscious on the floor. The point's pretty moot."

Jim winced. "Yeah, thanks for the reminder." His eyes were flinty.

Leonard rolled his eyes. "Fine. You infant."

Slowly, Leonard helped move Jim up and across the room to a small sitting area. Leonard guessed being CMO had its perks after all, one being a spacious cabin complete with a viewport and comfy chairs. The stars crept by outside, smudges of white the fathomless darkness, but where Leonard would once have felt fear at the sight, he now just felt tired. Tired, and deeply sad.

There was one less light out there tonight. As irritating as Spock was, Leonard's heart ached for him. He couldn't imagine what it was like to lose your entire homeworld. Even the secondhand grief that came with Leonard's natural empathy was enough to bowl him over if he really thought about it.

Jim settled into the chair with a shallow sigh, keeping one arm wrapped around his shattered ribs. In the low light, Leonard could see that some of the bruising had begun to fade, but dark bands still circled Jim's throat and ringed his eye and nose.

"You sure you up for this?" Leonard asked seriously.

Jim looked up at him, and the resolve in his pulped-up face was more than enough to convince Leonard. He knew that look.

Leonard commed Spock and asked him to come back. Then he broke into Puri's stash of whiskey and poured himself a generous tot. He didn't feel great about drinking a dead man's liquor, but it had been a hell of a day. He sat down heavily next to Jim and let out a soft groan.

Jim eyed the glass. Leonard scowled. "Not a chance, kid. The only reason you're on your feet at all is 'cause I gave you enough painkillers for a goddamn thoroughbred. You want your stomach pumped tonight too?"

"I didn't say anything," Jim said, throwing up his hands, but his eyes danced with mischief. It was almost enough to distract Leonard from the fear that shared space there.

"Jim," Leonard said, letting some understanding creep into his tone.

Jim's façade cracked. "I just…I hope he can forgive me. But I have no right to ask. I did a bad thing, Bones. A really bad thing."

Leonard nudged Jim's shoulder. "Yeah, maybe so. You did a bad thing." Leonard looked hard at Jim, catching his gaze. "It was a bad thing, but that doesn't mean it wasn't the right thing. You made the right choice, Jim. If you hadn't done it, we'd all be dead."

Jim looked down. "I know. I don't regret it. But I still feel like shit."

"Fair enough. But why do you care so hard about this, anyway? It's not like you haven't hurt people's feeling before." Leonard ticked his head. "Granted, maybe not quite like this. Still, why is this so important to you? You didn't even know the guy two days ago."

Jim frowned. "I don't know, Bones. It's just…it's just this feeling. Like I'm going to need him in my life after this. And I don't want to screw it up."

Leonard's eyebrows climbed. Interesting. "Jim, I've never known your instincts to be wrong. But Spock? Really?"

Jim looked up, and Leonard was startled by the certainty in his eyes. "Yeah. I don't know why, Bones. It's just a feeling. And either way, I need to apologize. If he'll let me."

Leonard leaned back into the chair. "Something tells me he will, Jim." He took a sip of the whiskey, letting its cold burn sluice away some of the tense grief twisted around his heart.

The cabin's entrance pinged.

"Enter," Jim called hoarsely. The door slid open, and Spock strode almost silently into the room. He came to a terse halt before where Jim and Leonard sat, back ramrod straight, despite, by Leonard's count, his shift having just finished.

"Captain," Spock greeted neutrally. "Though it pleases me to see you conscious, I must ask if you have risen prematurely. It has only been a few hours since I left you and Doctor McCoy."

To Leonard's surprise, Jim smiled faintly. "I appreciate you concern, Mr. Spock. But I'm okay."

Spock's eyebrows lowered fractionally. "Then may I ask why my assistance is required?"

"Not assistance, per se," Jim replied. "More your presence. Spock, please, have a seat. You're making me nervous just standing there."

Leonard was looking for it this time, so he didn't miss the faint tightening of Spock's eyes as he sat stiffly in the remaining chair, facing Leonard and Jim.

"Spock…" Jim began, the full gravity of the day in his voice. "I…I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

Maybe it was the tragedy they had just seen. Maybe the emotions were running so high through the whole damn ship that not even the arctic half-Vulcan could hold them off.

Because at Jim's words, something in Spock seemed to shatter. He crumpled forward slightly, elbows finding his knees, eyes wide and expression broken open. "Captain–"

"For God's sake, it's Jim, Spock, we're not on the fucking bridge," Jim cut in. And now that he was talking, Jim seemed unable to stop. The words spilled out of him with a gentle desperation Leonard had only seen a few times. "Spock, I need you to know that I didn't mean any of it. Any of the shit I said– I had to get command, I had to, but I didn't mean any of it. I know you loved your mother, and your fucking homeworld was just destroyed, and I took all the pain you were feeling and I twisted it against you. And I'm so, so sorry. I don't expect forgiveness, and you don't have to say anything. But I need you to know that I'm sorry. And… I wish we had met under better circumstances, because you're a good man, Spock. And it would have been an honor to serve with you." Jim was looking at Spock with a raw sincerity, something entirely void of dishonestly, and Leonard felt a little bit of awe at the intensity it carried with it. "Spock, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. For all of it." Jim looked down, his piece apparently said.

For a moment, there was a profound silence. Leonard looked over to see Spock still staring at Jim with that blown-open expression, and with a strange wonder, like he was seeing an entirely new person before him.

And in a way, he was. This was what Jim saved for the people he really cared about. This was the truth of him. To the rest of the world he was an arrogant hotshot, a bright-eyed bastard with too much to prove. But Leonard knew what lay behind the veneer. That brilliant love that Jim let shine for only a few.

"Captain…" Spock began hesitantly.

"Jesus, Spock, it's Jim." Jim was looking at the floor, shoulders hunched.

"Cap– Jim…" Spock spoke slowly, and his voice seemed a few octaves lower than normal. "I deeply appreciate your apology. Though I feel obligated to point out that not only were several of these circumstances beyond your control, you are also justified in your actions."

Jim tensed. "I refuse to live in a universe where the ends justify the means, Spock."

"As do I. Yet in this case, I believe an exception may be made."

"It was still a terrible thing to do–"

"Jim," Spock said, and the calm yet arresting intent in his tone made Leonard startle and Jim promptly clam up. "Please. Allow me to finish. There was indeed a time when I felt such absolutes should never be transgressed. However, the universe does not operate within absolutes, a fact that I have come to accept…particularly over the last forty-six hours."

At this Jim looked up, something vulnerable in his face. Spock continued, "What we have just survived…what we have lost…these things do not exist within a binary. One could not contain their magnitude such narrow channels. We follow a code of honor, of right from wrong. You have taught me that upholding that code can at times require unconventional methods, including methods that conflict with contemporary social mores. However, in doing so, your intent was always just. What is the Terran phrase– 'Your mind was in the right place?'" And beyond that…" Spock looked to the floor, and it was the first time since the fight on the bridge that Leonard had seen him break his composure. Spock's features were carven with pain. "Jim, if anything, it is I who should be apologizing. I contributed profoundly to your current injuries by allowing my emotions to usurp my logic. I could very well have killed you. If not for my father's intervention…" Shame clouded the words. "Jim, I am sorry. Though you sought my reaction to display my compromised nature, I am ashamed by my behavior and the harm it inflicted upon you. Though you have tried to hide it, I have seen your physiological reaction to my presence. With this in mind, I too do not ask for or expect forgiveness, and if you wish you part ways permanently upon our return to Earth, I will harbor no ill will toward you."

For a moment there was silence. Leonard was still, the whiskey glass motionless in his fingers. He was stunned by what he had just heard.

Then Jim said, quietly, "It's your heart."

Spock blinked. "Pardon?"

"The phrase– your heart's in the right place, not your mind. It's more appropriate too. I think, for people like us, the heart will always end up taking up more room than the mind." Jim fixed Spock with that laser gaze. "Even you, Spock. We are both emotional creatures, despite our best efforts." Jim reached out and brushed his knuckles against Spock's shoulder, and to Leonard's surprise, Spock leaned into the touch. "I will not forgive you, because there is nothing to forgive. If you hadn't done what you did, we'd all be dead, Spock. I'm grateful. And I'm grateful you gave me a chance, despite it all."

Spock's throat worked. "Jim…the feelings are entirely mutual. I too am thankful for what you did, even if, in the process of arriving here, we hurt one another. I owe you my life, and my only remaining planet. I fear my gratitude cannot be put into words."

Jim's eyes were soft, his expression warm. "Don't worry about it, Spock."

Leonard could hear the sincerity in Jim's voice, but Spock still looked troubled. "I thank you for your compassion, Jim. But there is another matter that weighs heavily on my heart for which, while we are on such topics, I would appreciate your input."

Some of the ease slipped from Jim's face. He leaned forward a little. "Yeah, go ahead."

Leonard could guess where this was going, and he didn't like it a bit. He moved a little closer to Jim, propping his leg against Jim's chair. Jim shifted so his calf rested warmly on Leonard's.

Spock's expression twisted with pain. "As Dr. McCoy informed you when you first awoke, you had been having a nightmare. In your sleep you mentioned certain…names and placed associated with a rather infamous event in Starfleet history."

Jim's brow furrowed, then cleared with sudden understanding. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Ah, hell, Spock. I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"I did not wish to keep it from you. Knowing about other events in your past, I imagine there are parts of your personal history I assume you would wish to keep private."

"You assume correctly," Jim replied. "Yeah, I don't go prancing around advertising the fact that I'm a Tarsus survivor." Jim ticked his head, starlight glinting off his hair and turning it platinum. "But honestly, I'm glad you know, Spock."

Spock looked confused. "Jim?"

Jim fixed Spock again perceptively. "You being half-human, I'm sure your childhood wasn't exactly orthodox, either. And with what happened today…" Jim looked through the porthole, out into the black. A comet flared into life and disappeared just as quickly, and Leonard watched Jim's eyes track it. "We're both survivors of genocide, Spock. I lived through it, barely. I watched it from the ground because I was there. I was shot at, starved, beaten. I got caught. I was tortured. I watched my family get killed. I was a kid. But I would rather take all that that than endure what you had to today. To watch your home die while you were so far away and couldn't do jack shit to stop it."

Jim turned back to look at Spock, square him with those piercing eyes, those eyes in which Leonard could sometimes see all the promise of the stars. The light and the fire, the roaring gravity, a home to the rarest of elements. Leonard knew that when Jim looked at someone like that, looked at them with all his walls down, they would both come away a little different. It was that power in his mind that had taken command and saved them all today. And it was the love in heart that made him want to. To save a world that had been relentlessly cruel. To forgive even those who had hurt him.

"Spock," Jim continued. "I don't know what's going to happen when we get back to earth. They might give me the ship. More likely, they'll arrest me, court-martial me, and kick me out of the academy. But no matter what happens…" Jim looked as deadly serious as Leonard had ever seen him. "If there is anything I can do to help– anything I can do to make this hurt a little less, the first few months are the worst– please tell me. No matter what happens, if you need me, I'll be there. When I got back from Tarsus I didn't have anybody. I don't want you to have to go through that. No one should have to go through that. So if you need to talk, I'll be there." Jim half-smirked. "And if, by some miracle, I do end up in command someday…I want you there, as part of my crew."

Leonard glanced over at Spock, wondering how he was taking all this. He was stunned to see Spock's eyes glinting with half-hidden tears. "Why?" Spock asked hoarsely.

Jim smiled gently. "Because I trust you. And you're a good man. And for some reason, you've put up with my bullshit up until this point. Only one other person in my life has done that, and he's sitting right next to me."

"An ongoing mystery even to me, kid," Leonard groused, but he smiled softly at the warmth Jim's words made bloom in his chest.

"I too cannot predict what the future may hold," Spock said, voice still rough but firm with conviction, "but if the opportunity presents itself, I would be honored to serve beside you. And you as well, Doctor. You amply proved your worth as both a physician and a sentient being today."

Leonard felt his ears heat up at the compliment, and it was almost enough to distract him from the fact that Spock refused to make eye contact. "Eh, I've had plenty of practice with the infant over there," Leonard snarked, grinning at Jim. "I seriously don't know why I keep you alive sometimes."

"Me neither," Jim admitted, snorting. "After all the times I puked on your shoes, stole all your coffee and took over your sofa back at the academy, I'm surprised you haven't slipped any arsenic into my annuals yet."

Leonard chuckled, and just like that, the gravity of the conversation lessened and gave way. But when Leonard glanced over at Spock, he was stunned to see that his shining eyes had spilled over. Spock ducked his head, surreptitiously swiping at the tears. Leonard looked away, feeling almost voyeuristic. Seeing a Vulcan cry seemed an irrevocably intimate thing.

Leonard's throat worked, and he looked back to Jim. One look and he knew that Jim had seen Spock's tears as well, and was going to promptly dismiss the fact that it had ever happened. Leonard was all too happy to do the same. "One of these days," he threatened. "Maybe not arsenic, but chloroform, definitely. Maybe that will get you to sit still long enough to let me administer your fucking shots."

Jim grinned at him cheekily. "You wouldn't have it any other way, Bonesy."

Leonard opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when an image suddenly struck him: a punk-ass kid with a swollen lip and too-blue eyes old blood dotting his shirt, who offered comfort to a stranger having a panic attack on a shuttlecraft.

Of late-night calls and broken ribs and spontaneous latte deliveries, sharing a table to eat or study, coming home to find his fridge empty and his couch occupied.

Of three wild years of fear and stress, of Leonard's life shattering and starting over, and somewhere in there that kid had come along rattled Leonard's cage– rattled him right out of it, in the best possible way. Jim had drawn Leonard out of the pain that came after the divorce, after his father's death, and taught him to see in color again after the world had gone gray. And in turn, Leonard saw past the bravado and brashness and got at the core of who Jim really was– a survivor and protector, ferociously curious, damaged and brilliant and brave.

And Leonard couldn't imagine his life without him. He didn't even want to try.

"You're right," Leonard replied, voice a little thick. "I wouldn't."

Jim frowned, like he was going to ask what was wrong, but Leonard just nudged his shin in a silent comfort. Jim's face relaxed in a gentle grin.

For a few long moments a comfortable quiet lay between the three of them. The low, dense hum of the engine sent a pleasant buzzing through Leonard's bones. He was tired, but the quarters were warm and the lights were low, and he was quite content to sit here and let his aching body be still.

Outside, the stars were impossibly bright. Jim was always going on about how beautiful space really was. Leonard couldn't help but think that maybe he was right.

A ship to call their own. A crew of good, trustworthy people. Them and the unknown, out in the black. The more Leonard thought about it, the better it sounded.

I could get used to this.

"No," he repeated, quietly, mostly to himself, though he knew Jim heard him. "I wouldn't."

In two weeks they would get back to Earth, and shit would hit the fan again. In eight hours, Leonard would go back on duty. None of it mattered. The future was unwritten, and would remain so regardless of what they did. If the last 48 hours had proven anything, it was that.

What mattered was that they were alive. Despite everything, God, they were still alive. Leonard drank in the knowledge like water.

"We're going home," Leonard said at length, almost sadly, as the stars blinked by.

"No, we're not," Jim said. He caught Leonard's eye, and Spock's now-dry one. "We're not. We're already home. Home is out here. And we'll build it ourselves."

Jim's eyes shone as he spoke, and Leonard realized that he absolutely meant it.

Jim had gotten a taste of his dream, and nothing would stop him from following it. And God help him, nothing would stop Leonard from following right along with him.

Spock's expression softened. "I like the prospect, gentlemen."

Leonard clapped Jim on the shoulder. "Sounds like a plan, kid." Jim grinned back, that wild light in his eyes.

No, Leonard didn't know what was going to happen. And with that, the future lay before them like an unwritten story, a comet trail waiting to be followed. He was here. Jim was here. They had each other's backs to the ends of the universe.

That was enough for Leonard. It always would be.