Title: Shades of Darkness
Characters: AOS Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Spock Prime, AOS Enterprise crew; TOS movie-era Kirk, Spock
Rating: T for movie-level language and violence
Final Word Count: 50,700

Warnings/Spoilers: Primary plot spoilers for Star Trek: Into Darkness and Generations. Various other spoilers for various other movies and Trek universe canons, footnoted where needed; no in-depth knowledge necessary to understand story. Could be categorized as a Generations fix-it, but set parallel to TSFS and TVH.

Summary: No one is more surprised than the newly-resurrected James T. Kirk, when he opens his eyes on an unfamiliar Starfleet Medical bay and a crew nearly forty years his junior. Meanwhile, young Jim finds himself trapped in the ghostly spirit-world of the Nexus, trying to find his way home as his crew desperately search for a way to reach him before Captain Picard can convince a confused Enterprise captain to leave that elusive Valhalla to face a premature death on Veridian III.

A/N: And here it ends, folks. Hopefully all questions answered with at least as much credibility as time-travelling with humpback whales by guesstimated slingshot maneuvers around the sun, or being able to be shoved out of a warp bubble with a hull breach by the Vengeance and not instantly be shredded into atoms. Gotta love the flexibility of Star Trek science. Thank you again to all you lovely people who have come along for this crazy ride; your support is very much appreciated and I hope you enjoyed.

Chapter Eleven

"I can't say that's a trip I ever want to make again in this lifetime, but at least it was ultimately a success. Nicely done, kid."

"Uh." He strangles out a sound somewhere between hello, nutjob and this is too much Weird for one uncaffeinated morning, okay? Okay.

"Will you shut up, all of you?" Bones demands from somewhere off to the side, and for the first time he realizes his friend isn't just spectating here, he's running a medical scanner over their poor host, who although he's white as a ghost is starting to look less like he's about to pass out, more like he's about to nerve-pinch Bones for his hovering. "Ain't enough that you scare a guy almost into a heart attack, y'all have to stand there jawing about it for ten minutes afterwards?"

"Doctor," the elderly Vulcan remonstrates with a patient sigh. "I assure you, that is not –"

"You hush. No one asked you."

Both eyebrows hit the elder Spock's hairline. Kirk snickers briefly, until he's fixed with a look of pure evil that obviously rings a bell somewhere in history past, because his amusement dies a painful death under the weight of very present guilt.

"Oh, I'll deal with you in a minute," Bones hisses, brandishing a hypospray with a menacing gesture that Jim is highly grateful is not directed at him. For once.

"Is he okay, Bones?" Geez, if the poor guy really does have heart trouble, dropping a dead man out of the sky on him probably didn't do him any favors.

Spock – the old one – gifts him with an entirely human eyeroll.

"No thanks to Captain Dramatic over there, yeah, I think so." A scowl, and the tricorder is returned to its holster. "But you better take it easy, you hear me?"

"I believe the observation team on Delta Seven can hear you in orbit, Doctor."

He laughs, and then promptly disappears behind Spock – his Spock – as Bones turns that evil eye his direction. Spock sighs and simply steps away, leaving him exposed and helpless before the onslaught of righteous anger. Some First Officer, abandoning him to this sudden and present danger.

"And you," a bony finger jabs into the admiral's chest, whereupon the man's eyes widen comically, "you better be glad I'm in a forgiving mood, today. Also I probably can't do anything to you without disruptin' a timestream somewhere, am I right? Or are you not, a much older version of this young pain in my ass?"

"Hey!"

"You gonna deny it?"

He scowls, crosses his arms over his chest. "Screw you, Bones."

"In your dreams, darlin'. Now, as for you?"

"Who, me?"

Heh, Bones is having a field day with two Jim Kirks to yell at. Jim scoots around him with well-practiced ease and skids to a stop in front of the older version of his First, sand flying in his wake. Frowning as the dark eyes flicker with just a hint of disbelief from him to his own counterpart, currently a few meters away and on the receiving end of a medical tantrum to end all tantrums, he notes with relief that the old Vulcan appears to be regaining some color in his features.

"Dude, you okay?" he asks, genuinely concerned. "And hello, heart issues? Would have been good to know!"

The Ambassador sighs tolerantly, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Your Doctor McCoy is as overly protective as mine ever was, Jim. I assure you, nothing so dangerous or so drastic is in my immediate future. However, I am not the young officer I was; and this…development, is something of a shock."

"That is a colossal understatement," Spock's voice sounds from behind them, and Jim turns to see him approaching with what looks like wariness, skirting around the two figures in the middle of the pathway. "I must confess to being completely at a loss to explain the event."

"That makes two of us, pi'shal."

"Literally," Jim interjects with a smirk, elbowing the both of them before he sets off toward the escalating argument. "Yo, Bones!" He gives the man a shove, knocking him off-balance with a cheerful grin. "Leave the poor guy alone, will you? You know our Spock's never been forthcoming about his health, so how would he know about the old one's?"

"Any moron would know you don't just drop a dead man into a room with a hundred-plus-year-old member of any species and expect 'em to not go into shock!"

"Annnd that's as nice as he's going to get," he sighs, giving his counterpart a pointed look over the irate physician's head. "Look, no offense, but you're a major problem."

Kirk's eyes sparkle with amusement. "So I see. I take it, then, that your timeline's reset successfully, and you can't remember anything?"

He squints at the man suspiciously. "What."

"I presume that's a yes."

"That's a I got no idea what in the seven moons of Orion you're talking about, and this conversation's getting progressively weirder, thanks. Ow! Bones, what the –"

"You're sunburnin' already." The hypospray disappears into a pocket, and Bones ignores his glare and dramatic neck-rub of indignant affront. "Time to move this shindig indoors."

"Spock?" Both look up at him, and he waves a hand vaguely in direction of the younger. "Mine. Let's give them a few minutes before we start the third degree, yeah?"

Spock blinks at him cluelessly.

"Come on, Spock. Geez." He gives his First a tug on the arm that he never would have been able to get away with pre-Khan, but he's enjoying the new physical tolerance Spock seems to have for him now and he's so going to milk it as long as he can without getting nerve-pinched. Bones is already halfway back around the house, and so he follows suit, dutifully pulling Spock with him. "Nosy Vulcan."

"Captain, your assumptions are erroneous and your physical contact inappropriate. Furthermore –"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, illogical and annoying and human and you can write a report about it later, Commander. Move your ass."

For a moment he stares after the bizarre trio as they retreat back around the house, his mind still boggled at the odd familiarity they share – and for the first time, seeing just how very different, is this version of their quite unique tri-une bond, in this wilder, darker universe. He can see now, the impressive strength that ties them together far below what looks like a very casual surface, and he can only speculate at the brutal events which likely forged that foundation in fire and blood.

And then it hits him like a sonic hovercraft, the fact that he finally is as much a part of this harsher, darker world, as they are - there is no going back, now. He took the plunge without looking back, without hesitating, without regretting his actions; but now, he must learn somehow to live with the consequences of that far better thing which he has done, to misquote Dickens. He is not a man easily frightened, but it is a daunting prospect.

How has Spock managed to stay sane in this world, watching from afar while a group of children – very talented, no doubt very brave, and very resourceful children, but still children – take their places in the galaxy, among the stars? How long has it been, since Spock left their own universe, his last moments there spent knowing he had failed utterly in a mission which had taken years of undercover work on Romulus – all that, gone in an instant, through no fault of his own?

What has he missed, not just here, but in the decades lost in their own universe after he was lost to the Nexus's dangerous thrall?

QeyllS, he doesn't even know when they lost their own McCoy.

Mind still reeling, he sits slowly, heavily, on the bench beside the silent figure of the one being who always knew him best. Adrenaline can cover a multitude of weaknesses, and now reality is creeping in. Pulling himself together is not as easy as it sounds.

"You all right?" he asks softly, after a few awkward seconds.

A quiet noise of disbelief. "An impossible question to answer completely, Admiral."

"Incompletely, then. And it's been decades since you called me that, don't start now."

Spock casts a glance sideways at him, as if still unable to quite look him in the eyes for fear he'll vanish if they make contact.

"I can explain," he adds, somewhat feebly.

"Can you."

"You think I chose any of this? Whatever this, is?"

"Chosen or not, it has been over ninety years. Jim." The pain in those few words is so sharp it is almost physical. "One does not simply resume where one left, after that length of time."

"No, I suppose not." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and slowly drags his hands down over his face. "So where does that leave us, then?"

"I do not know." Spock looks away, into the distance of a sun-streaked desert morning.

"Do you…want me to leave? I'll not be offended if you need space, Spock, or time for that matter. God knows you've been kind enough to do the same for me under far less traumatic circumstances."

"That is unnecessary."

"What, then?"

"I do not know."

"That, I highly doubt, old friend."

"You appear to be laboring under the impression that I am subject to the same human societal and emotional requirements as yourself."

"Those lines might have worked on me ninety years ago, Spock, but we both know better now. Try again."

Amusement fades into weariness. Spock sighs, an all-too-human, almost painful sound in the stillness of the morning breeze. "What do you wish from me?"

"I don't wish anything, Spock, just…be yourself, for pity's sake."

Dark eyes flicker sharply to his face for the first time, and he can see the uncertainty there. "Jim…you do not yet grasp the enormity of the time which has been lost in the intervening years. I am not who I was, nor will I ever again be the being you remember."

"When have I ever demanded you be something other than exactly who you are? Even when you went running scared back to Vulcan after that five-year mission crashed and burned spectacularly at the very end…did I ever ask you to return to us – to me? Against your own wishes, or trying to be something you didn't want to be?"

"You did not."

"Then speculate, Science Officer. Why would I begin doing that now?"

"I…do not know."

Spock's repeated uncertainty would be almost endearing in another situation, but now…now, it only produces a sense of sadness; for it's been far too long. He doesn't know the man – the Vulcan – sitting in front of him anymore. Never, from the first night they ate together in Officers' Mess aboard the Enterprise so many, many years ago, has their conversation ever felt so stilted, so unnatural, so awkward; even after Spock's fal-tor-pan, when Spock could barely remember his own name.

Nine decades; half a Vulcan's lifetime, and more than two-thirds of a human's. They've been apart for twice as long as they knew each other, before. That will change a man irrevocably, quite possibly into an entirely different person. And while some part of his soul already feels far more whole than it ever did in the artificial dream-world of the Nexus…he is still, despite all this, looking at a complete stranger.

And if he can still read Spock's rigid posture and refusal to make eye contact as he used to? It's clear that Spock is likely feeling the same.

Well.

All right, then.

He stands, refastens the top button of his jacket (makes a mental note to discard the outdated uniform at the first opportunity, as he is not immune to the stares of those kids a few minutes ago), straightens the braided sleeves. Clears his throat.

Spock looks up, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

He takes a breath, and hopes muscle memory can make a decent approximation of the ta'al he has not had cause to use in decades. "Ambassador, my name is Admiral James T. Kirk, of the United Federation of Planets. In a…neighboring universe, of yours. I've heard a great deal about you, Mr. Spock."

Spock's lips twitch suspiciously. "Have you indeed, Admiral."

"Oh, yes. I think we're going to be quite good friends, you and I."

"And upon what premise, do you base this exceedingly illogical supposition?" Spock asks, eyebrow arched.

"Let's just say, Mr. Spock…that however illogical it may be, I still believe in destiny."

"A most capricious human construct, devised in an attempt to explain the inexplicable constants of the universe."

"And yet, here we are."

"Indeed. A…fact…which I am yet finding difficult to believe."

"You and me both. I can't say the surprise is an entirely unwelcome one, though – can you?"

Spock's eyes glint. "Not entirely, no."

"You are as beneficial to my ego as ever, Mr. Spock."

He would swear that's an entirely human eyeroll, but after only a moment of hesitation in which he waits with infinite patience, Spock finally accepts both the olive branch and the hand up from the bench with a graceful nod.

"Now, shall we join those young idiots who aren't doing a very good job of eavesdropping around the corner, and I'll explain just how events unfolded, leading me here?"

"Well, this is all kinds of awkward."

"You're telling me, kid."

"Seriously. I know Bones gets pissy when I don't eat a salad once a week at least, but if this is why, well…man's got a point. Dude."

"I can see why your McCoy walked around looking like he wanted to kill you at least once an hour."

"Nah, he looks like that at everybody. I'm nothing special."

"Your crew appears to think otherwise, kid. Have you any idea how very lucky you are?"

"They're a little biased. And yeah, I do. Also, I got your ship like ten years before you did, so where do you get off calling me kid, old man."

"You would prefer Junior?"

"I'd prefer we both get out of here and not have to see each other again except at family reunions on New Vulcan, what do you say?"

"Hm, and here I thought Spock was just being loyal when he said you were actually a genius."

"Wait, wait. So…when you injected me with Khan's blood-serum thing, you brought back the wrong one? How does that even happen!"

"If we had been able to answer that, events would have unfolded very differently from the sequence which apparently did," Spock points out patiently. Uhura has to hand it to him, he's showing remarkable restraint with the whole affair. Given the shocking events of the morning, which she had missed entirely due to being in the city attending a linguistics conference at the NVSA, she is surprised that he appears less stressed now than he has for the last few days. Maybe the double influence is good for him. Either that or he's just feeling less threatened now that his old counterpart has a new focus of attention. It's kind of cute, and kind of ridiculous.

She herself, can hardly believe the insanity of their predicament: but here it sits, in all its crazy glory. The elder Kirk's story has been somewhat far-fetched, but not impossible; and it does explain matters to their satisfaction. Surely nobody would make up something that strange; it's just a shame none of them can remember any of it. Well, other than Jim's bizarre coma-dreams, which apparently were just bleed-through from this Nexus-thing. Or just Jim being a weirdo, equally possible.

"How do you resurrect the wrong dude, Bones! Come on!"

"Was I ever that whiny?" Kirk whispers behind his hand, and from the Ambassador's other side McCoy chokes on his coffee.

"I heard that!"

"My God, you're such a drama queen. This ain't about you, Jim." Leonard's eyes roll so hard his entire head moves. "Not like we were tryin' to reboot you as the not-exactly-new-and-improved version."

"I feel vaguely insulted."

"I'm a doctor, not a cheerleader."

"And that's a visual none of us needed, thank you, Leonard." She turns to the two eldest of their small group. The Ambassador appears to be doing nothing more than just watching them in contented silence – watching his newly resurrected captain the most, obviously, but she can see the play of amusement and fondness on the old Vulcan's features as they interact together as a crew. Kirk seems to be oblivious of the attention, which is kind of adorable, and she shakes her head with a smile, leaning forward to interject.

"So, we get the alternate timeline and reset part of the story, Admiral. But…I don't understand how you are here, in this timeline, if what you say is true. Your shuttle broke apart on the edge of the Nexus?"

"It did, Lieutenant. All according to plan. Sort of." She raises an eyebrow, and he chuckles. "Did you pick that up from him, or is that an entirely innate habit?" At her narrowed look, he just moves on, grinning. "Your own captain's plan was a good one, but it was a massive risk – and, it had no failsafe. Added to that, is the fact that no matter what the outcome, there still needed to be one of us within the Nexus when the events on Veridian III occurred."

"Yeah, speaking of…" Jim gestures up-and-down at his counterpart, quizzically. "I'm hoping you didn't just bail on everyone in your own timeline."

Kirk smiles. "No, I didn't. And thanks to you, kid, I didn't end up being trapped in there a second time, either. A little unconventional maneuvering of the timelines and universal laws, but your crazy plan apparently worked. Something tells me you were hell on your Academy instructors."

"You have no idea," Spock says dryly.

"How are you not being affected by this place?"

"Not a clue. I didn't know I was supposed to be affected until Uhura showed up and said she'd been able to change things in her surroundings. And if what you're saying is true…"

"You should have lost your free will a long time ago, kid. No way should you still be remembering your crew and life before this, this vividly, or be this unhappy, if the thing's working properly on you. It should have given you whatever you wanted, long ago."

"It's almost like it doesn't even realize I'm here."

"Well…maybe it doesn't. Maybe it doesn't just exist off of positive energy, maybe there has to be an element of physical matter involved as well. Since I had your body back in your own timeline – you said you've been a disembodied type of soul here? – then perhaps it never actually registered your presence. And that would explain why you kept your own memories and free will without interference – as well as why it never seemed to listen to your heart's desires. It literally didn't realize you – or rather a version of me – was still here."

"…But you're back here now, so why aren't you affected?"

"I…sort of made a run at it in one of the Enterprise's shuttlecrafts, and didn't quite make it through the energy field."

"You what!"

"Kid, you're about to reset this timeline and you're taking a hell of a risk leaving this place with someone else's soul running around in your occupied body. And when you do reset, there's no guarantee that I would return here, divided from that body when the timeline tears apart – and I have to be here, in 2371, in my timeline, or the Enterprise and the Veridian star system burn. It's not by any means a sure thing, but at least your odds of success are improved this way with your body no longer occupied by the wrong tenant, so to speak."

"You're an idiot."

"Perhaps. I've certainly been called worse."

"Spock is probably having a cow right now."

"I'm hoping you get on with it, so he doesn't have to for much longer."

"So you're just going to, what, wait here for the next however many decades, until this Captain Picard shows up?"

"You have a better idea?"

"Actually, yeah."

"I'm listening."

"Fascinating." The elder Spock muses, glancing thoughtfully between them.

"It's damn creepy, is what it is," McCoy mutters. He drains the last of his coffee and looks mournfully into the empty cup. "Two of you. God help us all."

Jim laughs. "Seriously, I came up with this?"

"You did. Frankly, I was a bit skeptical about it working – but at that point, it was a good plan, worthy of a risk. And never let it be said I was unwilling to take a risk."

"So…because your physical body had to still be in the Nexus somewhere, you gambled on the idea that it was still fully functioning with some kind of, what – cloned mindset?" she asks incredulously.

"A fairly solid gamble, Lieutenant, one which could easily be proven or disproven. It did take a few decades to finally find my doppelganger in that mess, however."

"Decades?" It had only been ten days here; she can't imagine searching for that long, alone, in the faint hope of eventual escape from a benign but lonely prison.

Kirk shrugs, though she can see the traces of desperation still lingering in his eyes. "It's strange, seeing yourself as nothing more than an automaton, let me tell you. But I finally found it – him – whatever, and knew then that it was safe to leave. Problem was, we had to then wait for the gateway, so to speak, to open again, since the timeline had been reset to the seventy-eight-year opening in my own universe. That took quite a few more years."

She sees the Ambassador pale slightly, at the realization.

"It's okay," Kirk adds, smiling slightly, and lays a gentle hand on the elderly Vulcan's arm. "I had to figure out how to get the Nexus to conjure me up a second physical body anyway. Rome wasn't built in a day, you know – neither could that be."

Jim whistles. "So, after all that time, when the thing finally opened again, you just, what…slipped out along with your double, who left with Captain Picard? You just left the Nexus into our time and space, instead of yours?"

"Mm-hm." The admiral sits back, looking extremely satisfied. "I'm a bit surprised Picard didn't notice something was a little off, but then again he'd never met me so I suppose he had no way of knowing my soul, so to speak, was elsewhere. So there you have it, gentlemen. And you have my thanks, Captain," and the emphasis is entirely void of sarcasm, "for your quite inspired plan."

"Agreed," the Ambassador echoes softly.

"Huh." Jim blinks, taking this in. "Wish I could remember it. I mean, I have a few bits and pieces, but I thought that was just the cryo-storage talking."

"No wonder your readings were all over the place during those two weeks, you were bouncin' all over the universe inside your head. Y'can't even stay comatose like a normal person, can you."

"Leonard!" Just because they can laugh about it now, doesn't mean they should. She knows humor is both Jim and Leonard's method of coping under stress, but the last three weeks have been murder on Spock's state of mind, and he can't fall back on humor to relieve the pressure like a human can.

Case in point, the minor meltdown happening in three, two –

"Doctor, I find your levity both inappropriate and insensitive."

"Like you would know insensitivity if it bit you on the ass, you –"

"Enough."

She starts in surprise, because that's a tone she hasn't heard in months – long before that disastrous mission on Nibiru, long before Jim started doubting himself and all of them. That particular command edge is diamond-sharp enough to cut glass, and she's personally witnessed it slice the most belligerent of alien races to proverbial ribbons by the time he's through. It's a rare thing, for it to be turned on one of them – and when it happens, the entire crew takes note. And usually runs for cover.

"Spock, walk with me." Blue eyes meet hers over the table, and she nods in silent support. Also, no way does she want to draw his attention right now, not when he looks like that. "Bones…look, I'll be back, but just chill for a minute, okay."

McCoy has the grace to look slightly abashed, but not in any way apologetic, and scowls after the retreating figures as they leave the room.

"I am given to understand the last three weeks have put your crew under immense stress, Doctor."

The elder Spock's gentle observation produces a snort of disbelief. "And here I thought you people were geniuses. The last three weeks have been hell, Ambassador."

"What exactly happened, up there?" Kirk asks quietly. "If it was anything like it was for us, it was likely the worst experience of your life, I'm guessing."

"You're not wrong. Kid's makin' me gray before my time."

She can see the grief, still present but well-hidden, lurking in the man's expression – it's never really left, though it fades a little every day that goes by and Jim continues to heal, continues to become more of a brat in retaliation for being hovered over.

"You didn't know what he was planning, then."

"You think I'd have let him go through with it if I had?!"

"That likely is why he did not inform you, Doctor."

"That, and the fact he probably couldn't stand to say goodbye to you," Kirk adds, glancing away for a moment. He finally stands abruptly and walks across the room, facing away from them.

She sees the Ambassador's eyes close in silent shared grief and sympathy.

Oh.

Well, crap.

She hadn't thought about that – probably none of them had. She's not sure Leonard even realizes just how integral a part he is, to whatever weird platonic-soulmate thing Spock has going on with Jim. She needs to make sure Spock gets Jim's head back in the game and tells the poor man that, if they haven't made it clear in the past, because no way are they going back into space with unfinished man-drama. Nobody has time for that, in this business; if recent events have reiterated anything to them, it's that life is far too short.

Thankfully, McCoy is no idiot, and he seems to realize abruptly the reason for their elder counterparts' reactions – he shifts in his seat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, and glances at her with a look of clear helplessness.

She sighs silently, but takes pity on the poor guy, since Jim and Spock have abandoned him to hash out whatever drama they're dealing with now.

Clearing her throat, she waits until she has the attention of both of their parallel counterparts and then offers them a disarming smile.

"So, Admiral – we know Ambassador Spock here quite well, and now we've gotten to meet you, but tell me. Was your Doctor McCoy as much a sappy drunk as ours can be?"

"Look, what is going on with you?"

Spock won't look at him, which means he's either embarrassed about his little catfight or just flat pissed off (the face is the same, no help there), so he's forced to rely on old-fashioned guesswork and a little innate obnoxiousness to push his First into spilling whatever is obviously not-bothering him.

"I know this whole thing's got to be some Inception-level crazy, but you're used to there being two of you around at least, and anyway you've been acting weird for days. What gives?"

Spock's exhale is as controlled as it is obviously a bid for patience.

"Come on, Spock. You can tell me what's bothering you, you know that right?"

"Nothing, Captain." And yeah, that might fly if he wasn't standing straighter than he does on the Bridge, hands firmly clasped behind his back and staring unseeing out at the New Vulcan landscape. Nothing out there is that interesting.

"Don't lie to me."

"I am not."

"I may not be that old man in there but I can tell that much, at least. You are, and I want to know why."

A dry desert wind picks up suddenly, whipping about them in a burning gust of hot air that threatens to tear the oxygen from his lungs. Spock's hair ruffles slightly before settling.

He remains silent, staring at the horizon.

"Did I do something?"

They've hardly talked, actually, since he woke up, but it's entirely possible he said something idiotic without meaning to, that's a habit hard to break after years of dedicated practice. He hasn't ticked off Uhura, to his knowledge…

Surely Spock's not still holding a grudge about what went down just before Khan attacked Starfleet HQ that first time? They haven't heard about new postings yet, but he can't see the powers that be splitting them up again, not after what went down between the Vengeance and the Enterprise. Unless Spock wants them split up, and is just trying to figure out how to tell him.

Despite the scorching heat, he suddenly feels cold and sick.

"You're gonna have to help me out here, Spock."

They've meandered through Old Spock's various gardens and the small courtyard, and now find themselves on a sort of craggy stone ledge overlooking a desert-like expanse, which appears to be the separation between outlying estate homes and the distant central city of the Vulcan colony. Jim briefly wonders how different things might have been, if he'd ever had the chance to visit Vulcan when it wasn't under attack, when he wasn't under suspicion, and spares a moment of reflection and silence for the missed opportunities, the loss of life.

Spock stares out over the sandy plains for a moment before seating himself on the ground in what Jim recognizes as a basic meditation position – a not quite nervous habit, and an indication that he's not exactly avoiding answering Jim's question, just trying to get up the mental preparation to do so.

That's not a good sign, so he falls silent and just follows Spock's example, for once letting the silence do the talking for him.

It's a good twenty minutes before the quiet is broken by something other than the whistling of the wind, or the occasional distant bird-call from far overhead in the clear sky.

Spock finally shifts slightly on the ground, and turns to look at him. His eyes are troubled.

"I am uncertain where to begin, Captain. Far too many things have happened in recent weeks, which have…contributed to the deterioration of my emotional control."

This is dangerous territory. "Well…to some extent, I think the cause might be sufficient," he replies cautiously. "We can't really seem to catch a break, Spock."

To his credit, Spock doesn't even bother to pretend ignorance of the expression. "While this may in part be true, it does not excuse my recent lapses in control, Captain. Not the least of which, was done in full view of many of your Bridge crew shortly after your death."

"I'm pretty sure none of them blinked an eye, Spock. And I read the reports, you know. Not even Giotto cared about what condition you brought Khan back in."

"That does not excuse the breaking of regulation in the treatment of a Federation prisoner."

"Maybe. But you're not going to see me or anyone else complaining about it. That can't possibly be the only contributing factor here."

"You are correct."

"So…?"

Spock looks away for a moment, across the rolling sandy plains. "I am…experiencing difficulties in rebuilding my mental shields," he finally says, with obvious reluctance.

"That sounds serious."

"It is." Dark eyes flick to his for a moment, what looks like shame hiding within them. "In the interests of full disclosure, I should inform you that it is considered to be a medical emergency in the Vulcan culture."

He sits up straight at that, very much alarmed, because this should not be the first he's hearing of his primary command officer experiencing a serious medical emergency, recent events or no. "And you didn't say anything to Bones about this?"

"He has had…other concerns, of late."

"Not an excuse. How bad is it?"

"It is…manageable. But an increasing inconvenience."

"In other words, you're miserable and we're making it worse."

Spock almost honest-to-god-scowls at him, only proving the point.

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, noting absently the need for a haircut after so many days spent invalided in Starfleet Medical. Or maybe he'll let it grow out a bit, maybe change is good for all of them. "Okay, explain to me exactly what this means, Spock. Remember I'm not Nyota, I don't have all this inside information on your culture."

"Nyota does not have this information; it is a private matter."

"Uh, pretty sure she's not going to see it like that if you're telling me."

"You misunderstand. She is aware of my difficulties; however, in this area she is unable to render assistance. Therefore, the matter is an entirely private one and there is little point in discussing it with her without reminding her of what I believe you humans call a 'sore subject.'"

"Okay, so if you aren't going to really talk about it with us because it's too private, can you at least tell me when the problems started?"

"The difficulties first began shortly after the night of Khan's initial attack on Starfleet Headquarters."

He swallows, sharp and choking like a heated knife-point. The pain of that night is still razor-edged, since for him it's only been days since he awoke to a world recovering from that attack. Everyone else had had a couple of weeks to become accustomed to that world, and he had only just fully realized it. Chris Pike had already been laid to rest by the time he woke up, and that had been a heartbreaking discovery, two days after waking from his coma.

And Spock…Spock had mind-melded with the guy as he was dying. No wonder he was having problems.

"You think you messed yourself up, mind-melding with Pike when he died?" he asks bluntly.

He doesn't think Spock was totally submerged, so to speak, in a full-on mind-meld, just based on the fact that he's a Starfleet officer. As such, he would never make himself completely vulnerable during a crisis like that; but he had to have still been deep enough to get a good dose of whatever had been going on in Pike's head at the time.

Spock's look of complete shock reminds him that his First has no idea that he even knows more than colloquially what a mind-meld is, and so is probably a little freaked right now at the idea that his society's very private, almost religious practices have been leaked to an outworlder.

"The idea had occurred to me, but I am more interested to know how it occurred to you, Captain."

"I'm not trying to be insensitive here, Spock, but…I know what it's like, to die, now." He clears his throat, looks away for a minute, because those eyes are far too perceptive and it will become very obvious very quickly, that he hasn't dealt with this yet himself. "If he was feeling even half as – as scared, as I was? That'd mess anybody up, even getting it second-hand." He looks down, and damn it, his hands are shaking again. "God, I hope he wasn't as scared as I was, Spock. He deserved a lot better."

"Fear of death is a natural part of life, Jim."

"Maybe." He shakes his head, hands clenched before him. "But we are starship captains – we're supposed to be a little braver than that."

"That supposition is inaccurate. The test of a starship captain, as you so…uniquely demonstrated just prior to your own commencement, is in how one faces that fear – not in the complete elimination of it."

He snorts a laugh. "That's probably as close to an apology as I'm ever going to get from you for that mess, isn't it?"

"One does not apologize where it is not warranted."

"Uh-huh." He grins, looking sideways at the calm features of his First. "Why is it you're so much better at taking care of me than you are at taking care of yourself, Spock?"

Spock's pale features color slightly. "That is also inaccurate," he says quietly.

He frowns. "Please tell me you aren't blaming yourself for the willful and knowledgeable actions of another sentient being, Spock, because that's highly illogical."

"Doctor McCoy informs me that despite knowing such facts, this…feeling, is natural."

"Yeah, well. He's dealing with his own survivor's guilt right now, he doesn't need to be adding to yours. Spock, I knew damn well what I was doing and I did it anyway – you and I both know the ship was dropping straight out of the sky and that was literally the only thing that could be done."

"I am aware of this."

"But it doesn't make it any better, does it." He sighs, rubs wearily at the skin around his eyes, trying to stave off the headache. "I could say I'm sorry, but it won't really be true, Spock. I will always choose the ship. I can't make any other decision, it's just not in me."

"I am also aware of this. It is for that very reason I am certain you are the man best suited for the captaincy of the Enterprise."

"That mean you're not going to write any more reports behind my back that'll get me demoted again?" Spock looks pained, and he holds up a remonstrative hand. "That's not fair, Spock. I'm sorry."

"Your anger was justified."

"Taking it out on you wasn't. You did exactly what I rely on you to do, Commander – to keep my command decisions in balance – and just because I didn't like it doesn't mean you were in the wrong."

"My judgment was in error, Captain. And however unintentionally, I gave you just cause to doubt my loyalties." The earnestness in the tone is unmistakable, and it eases something inside him he hadn't even realized was lurking in the background, tense and worried. "It will not happen again."

"I've never doubted your loyalty, Spock. Tempering that with trust? That's something we both have to work on, I think."

"That is a fair assessment."

"So. We've established that I'm an idiot, you have emotional PTSD, and we have a long road back to where we were. Where does that leave us?"

Spock steeples his fingers and looks out at the desert. "I do not know."

"You…you aren't asking for a transfer, are you?"

The desperation in his voice is likely very obvious, because Spock's head turns toward him, tilting quizzically. "It was not in my immediate plans, no," he replies, lips quirking in a half-smile.

"Good. That's…good." He blows out a long, relieved breath, and leans back on his hands, head tilted back toward the sun. "I can't do this without you, Spock."

"I doubt that is quite true, but I see no reason to test the hypothesis."

"You know it's been almost two weeks since I woke up, and the idea of even stepping foot into Engineering again still terrifies me so much I wake up at night wanting to lose my dinner?"

"Unfortunately, Lieutenant Uhura informs me that I have subjected her to much the same process the last seven evenings."

"We're a mess, Commander." He shakes his head, grinning ruefully. "Come on, you're the scientist here, Spock. Speculate. How would you suggest we start getting rid of our baggage so we have a chance at landing another ship when Starfleet decides I'm not going to go rogue on them?"

"Lieutenant-Commander Scott informed me this morning that repairs on the Enterprise's warp core and impulse engines have proceeded to the point of requiring extensive tests and the usual battery of regulatory inspections. Perhaps, upon our return, we may undertake that responsibility ourselves."

"Yeah…yeah, I'd like that. Thanks, Spock."

"You are welcome. Jim."

Epilogue

"So, we probably won't be heading back this way until the end of the mission, unless something catastrophic happens to endanger the planet," he says cheerfully.

Spock takes his remaining bishop with a look of unholy glee. "I believe the humans have an expression – do not jinx us, Captain."

On the vid-screen, his older counterpart snickers, and the Ambassador sighs tolerantly at them both. "I am pleased to hear your reinstatement was so uneventful, Jim."

"Yeah, me too."

He frowns at the board. Chess has never been his strong suit. He is smart enough, that's not the issue – he just hasn't ever had the patience for the Long Game like Spock does. Also, there's no way to get creative in chess; it is what it is, no rule-bending, no cheating. His strength in battle is primarily the element of surprise; Spock's, is his ability to foresee every outcome except that one crucial surprise. Together, they make for a game that is either over within ten minutes or that lasts for two hours, as this one has.

"This is the first deep space mission of its kind, it's pretty awesome."

"Psst, not that one," his elder self whispers abruptly, as he reaches for a rook.

Spock shoots the screen a deathly glare.

"Sorry. Ahem. Anyway, my sincere congratulations, kid. Enjoy it while you can – and if you have the choice, don't ever for a second consider letting them boot you off the ship onto desk duty."

"Well, duh." He moves his queen to a safer position on the lowest tier in resignation to Spock's sweeping victory, obviously fast approaching. "Say, you got any advice for us before we set out, old man? Any particular alien races we should avoid, or planets we should definitely give a fly-by?"

Kirk's eyes light up. "Well, there is –" He breaks off with a short yelp, as if having been suddenly kicked under the table, and turns an accusatory glare at his companion. The elderly Vulcan merely gives him a pointed look until he subsides, muttering to himself.

"We have disturbed your timeline enough, young one. This is where that interference ends," the ambassador says, firmly. Jim stifles a laugh as from behind him Kirk lifts a spread hand to his ear, wiggles it and mouths call me.

Spock rolls his eyes and shifts a knight into position. "Check. Mate in four, Captain."

"Ughhhhh." He pokes his king into a diagonal move to get away. "Why did I agree to this?"

"I believe this time, because it offered sufficient grounds to excuse you from Doctor McCoy's latest medical examination."

"That would've been less painful. Can I just surrender now and get it over with?"

"Yeah, he's definitely not me," Kirk whispers, sotto voce, and the elderly Vulcan half-smiles.

"Screw you, gramps." He tips his king, knowing it's going to piss Spock off, and smirks up at his annoyed First.

Spock turns a pointed look toward the view-screen. "Have you any advice, which might be helpful in dealing with situations involving such unusually frustrating individuals?"

"Negative."

"Nope."

Jim cackles at the dual expressions of very clear I plead the fifth. Then he catches a glimpse of the clock in the corner of the screen, and swears under his breath, turning back to his First.

"Uhura is going to kill me."

Spock's look of dismay is almost hilarious, except Jim's seen Uhura when she's pissed off, and it's majorly hot but majorly scary.

"Tell her I'm sorry I'm such a slow learner," he yells after Spock as the guy dashes from the room with as much dignity as possible when he's twenty minutes late for a movie-and-dinner date and basically the entire ship probably knows by now. Good thing they're still on a skeleton crew and not a full complement.

That will come tomorrow, when the rest of them beam or shuttle aboard. In fact, he probably should get going himself, to meet up with Bones for a long-deserved dinner and drink, and also to go over the psych evals for the newcomers. No one else is going to catch him with his pants down like Admiral Marcus did. For every man he lost, he is going to see that another lives, that much he's vowed on Christopher Pike's memory.

He toasts the two figures on his screen with the last dregs of whatever weird herbal tea his first officer had offered him when he arrived an hour ago. "Seriously, though. You guys stay out of trouble while we're gone, yeah?"

"Yeah," the elder Spock dead-pans.

He chokes on his drink, and the screen goes dark to the ghostly sound of laughter not quite his own.

He leaves Spock's cabin with less foreboding about the upcoming mission than he has felt since long before the incident with Khan, long before that mission on Nibiru set off a powderkeg of doubt and festering animosity that could easily have destroyed his command chain. For quite a while, he doubted himself and his abilities, for even longer he doubted that his crew had faith in the same. But now?

Now, he has a feeling that the universes – any or all of them – are not quite prepared for the quadruple threat they have, however unintentionally, unleashed. Apparently even Time itself, must bow before the authoritative power of Destiny.

Who is he, then, to doubt?