A/N: Note to self – don't write at four a.m. A quick note - the watchmaker's fallacy/theory/argument is a real thing, but it's more of a philosophical idea. I just happened to be reading about it the evening before, and had a dream that inspired this work. Enjoy, everyone!

The Watchmaker Fallacy

His eyes burn bright and blue and she cannot help but think of how very much he looks his father in this moment. A child—their child—but despite his frequent testing of his very healthy lungs, she can tell that there's something else going on with him. Only three days, he's been in this world, and what a gift that is. Of course she's sick to her stomach that George isn't there to be a part of the experience with her, but it's okay—she's going to make everything better. You hear that, Jimmy? She thinks this, and continues cooing softly into her son's gentle skin.

As if sensing her oncoming headache, and the tears she's been trying to repress since the incident, her boy reaches his stumpy little fingers up to her temple, and before she realizes it, she has fallen asleep with him curled up in her arms. Still, the circumstance cannot be more than a coincidence, and she dismisses it as such, and she wakes, just as tired as she'd been before drowsing, to her boy's wails for attention.

Fixing him with a look, she raises an eyebrow. "You think you're so smart," Winona remarks teasingly, before sighing. She goes through the motions—he suckles at her breast for some time before she pats him off, and burps him, effectively making him spit up. Then, once fed, she changes his diaper and hopes he'll be comfortable enough to rest again, although he'd just been napping in her arms.

Her thoughts race, and she wishes she could have a drink, but she wouldn't dare endanger her son because of her inability to see straight for all her grief at the moment. No, that certainly wasn't what George had given up his life for. It wouldn't fix anything, but she straightened herself out, figured she'd go ahead and try to get married again (do not throw up, she warned herself, just at the thought), give Jim a father to look up to. Not now…no, it was too soon. But before it was too late. Striding onto the balcony, she looked up at the sky, free of the prior era's pollutants, and, in her childhood home, so close to the stars. Her parents promised that they would rush home to support her as soon as possible, but they'd been very far from Iowa at the time of the crash, and she'd only wanted to get away from Starfleet at her earliest convenience. She was grateful for their psychological support more than anything, but she had to get back on her own two feet. She had a child to take care of.

Still, when she heard him cry this time, only twenty minutes after his last fuss, she bent her head low and murmured that child rearing was not all it was cracked up to be. To her surprising discovery, she found his small hand curled around the damaged communicator she'd most likely dropped on her way to get a breath of fresh air. Asking like he was a superior officer of the fleet, she sounded harried. "What are you doing?"

Those baby blues widened, and his crying stopped, but she could not seem to process this scene. Instead of an infant's minor motor functions and typical processing abilities, her boy was sitting there analyzing the half broken communicator and thumping it with his bare fist, hurting himself, and the cries were thus explained. Like he'd been able to form words already, he turned to her, sitting on his behind, mouth babbling a response back. He's a baby, she told herself, stop freaking out, he's just curious.

Still, it looked an awful lot like her deceased husband's mannerisms, as he smiled a mouth full of nothing but gums and a small tongue. Her excited imagination provided a response to her question. Fixing this, baby Jim would have said, and she felt her heart race again.

.x.

Pike swept into the private conference room with a stack full of digital devices, and the Vulcan-hybrid looked like the same stone-faced stoic he'd always been. "How much do you know about the watchmaker fallacy?" The captain sounded more than a little concerned. The adolescent didn't seem to care, and took his time to process the full extent of his response.

"You speak of the argument originated in earth history's nineteenth century; rooted deeply in the ideas of teleology, regarding the origins of what is called the omniscient presence of 'god'. An outdated theorem, as science has hence proven—"

The older man grimaced as he interrupted him. "That's enough, Spock. I simply wanted to know if you were familiar with the concept." Taking a seat, he wondered why people were so curious about the origins of his head full of gray hair, since men and youth like this were those that walked into his office every day. "Since that's taken care of, how do you feel about acknowledging the existence of something—or rather, someone—who possibly fits the criteria of a being involved in the fallacy's hypothesis?"

"I find acknowledging such an existence without further proof to be highly illogical," The pointy-eared young man responded, his lips pressing into a thinner line. "However, as you have brought the subject to my attention, I must assume that there is some research you find a valid resource for further reiteration—"

"Spock," Pike tries not to let the whining quality of his interruptions sneak into his voice, but it is proves very difficult with his current audience. "I don't need a lecture. Everyone realizes you're the youngest and brightest professor at this academy, you are only sixteen, and we are all very proud. You don't need to prove yourself to me. I just wanted to know if you'd like to meet this kid. We're pretty sure his very existence is changing our world, but he doesn't know that yet."

Spock looks shocked to receive such an outright compliment, but his processors are running at a mile a minute. "A child, sir?"

The captain opens up one of the hundreds of digital files he'd haphazardly laid on his desk, the screen whirring to life quickly and supplying a crystal-clear photograph of a boy clearly just recently roughed up, his record and history and noted peculiarities glare back at the two of them. "A one mister James Tiberius Kirk, son of our famous George Kirk, hero of the Kelvin incident five years ago."

Pike is no expert in reading the expressions of the Vulcan, but he's fairly sure that incredulous and disappointed come across loud and clear. After all, he'd shared similar sentiments when he'd heard about it from his superior, an admiral. "There seems to be nothing to suggest further intrigue," Spock comments with a scowl on his lips, his eyes clearly wary, but he remains seated. "What makes you so sure of his effect?"

He decides that there's only one easy way to deal with this. "I met him."

.x.

"Coming!" Winona feels both on edge and relaxed. Her first emotion is because she'd received communication from a recently familiar man about someone else coming to visit, or as Pike had said, to observe Jim. She felt relaxed because, in a way, she knew her boy was letting her feel this way. It should've made her more unnerved, but in recent years, she's started to mentally accept that Jim has no idea what he's doing, and the days go by a lot more smoothly when she stopped fighting his control and just let him do as he pleased. He hasn't done anything harmful, other than almost let her husband get very hurt in a bar brawl last month.

Jim does not like him. He's currently scowling, bruised and hurt from the most recent 'argument' he and his stepfather had gotten into, grounded for the words he'd said, and grumbling triumphantly, despite his punishment. When he hears someone at the door, the door whirring open, he's curious. How rare—two people from Starfleet in one month? He'd heard his father was a hero, but certainly they couldn't both be here to offer condolences so far apart, and so long after the memorial date.

The man at the door is not just any stranger; he is not quite a man, and he is not quite a human, either, but the resemblance is uncanny. He looms over the boy; he's very tall, even among adults.

"This is Lieutenant Spock—he is one of the youngest standing officers of Starfleet's command, and he teaches at the academy. Would you mind if he spoke to you alone, James?" He squirms at the use of his proper name, but otherwise nods.

"Are you going shopping, mom?" She nods, an easy way to get out of the house for a while. It's strange, somewhere in her consciousness, how easily she leaves her boy to a stranger, but the press of influence makes her leave even more quickly. She wants to grunt and dig in her heels, but somehow, she just can't. "See you later." For a time, it is just Spock looming over James, and neither of them say anything. Finally, the five year old plops back on the floor, and pats the cushion he's got next to him. "Wanna sit?"

Having just watched the exchange, Spock sees what his commanding officer had alluded to. "Why do you do such things to your mother? Are you self-aware?"

"What, you mean like making her leave?" Jim scowls a bit, the scab under his left eye itching at that particular moment. "Yeah, I guess. She doesn't exactly put up much of a fight, and it's not like I'm probing her brain or anything. I just thought it'd be easier if she wasn't hovering in another room or something, and when I thought that, I remembered she wanted to go to the store. So she left."

Worse still, he knows. Spock is both in awe and disgust. He could never imagine doing such a thing to his mother. Still, he's on a mission. "You have the remarkable qualities of a person that could very well change life as it stands, based on your whims. It's my duty as a member of Starfleet to see that you do not abuse this endowment, and refrain from changing the course of natural history."

James raises an eyebrow. "Man, you talk a lot." After a yawn, he opens watery blue eyes back up and gives the Vulcan a level stare. "I want to go to Starfleet headquarters. I wanna see what everyone's always making such a fuss about, with my dad and everything. Whatever it is, it makes Frank pissed enough to beat me half to death, and makes my mom willing to give into my, whatchamacallit—whims."

Spock feels like his throat is very dry. "There is a post here in Iowa, but as for permission to roam headquarters at your convenience, I am afraid that I would have to approve that notion with Captain Pike before all else, and this procedure requires at least several weeks to come to his attention—"

"Geez, mouthy," The brash boy hops off of the floor and grabs his hand. "Just take me to the one here, no need to get your undies in a twist."

"I go by the name of Spock, and as mouthy is no part of my name or title, I would suggest that you—"

"Alright, Spock, Spock, fine! Let's go," James grabs his hand, and the Vulcan is unsure whether this boy knows what touch means to his race, and is intentionally doing this to get a rise out of him, or if he is as much a child as his appearance betrays.

.x.

Even without stating his name and purpose, people had recognized him. His face had been all over the digital tabloids upon his acceptance to the academy six months ago, and his imposing, distinct look was obvious even among droves of human and alien males and females. James, at his side, but not really, was buzzing with excitement, rambling on and on about things he'd only read about, taking it all in. "It's incredible," The boy had breathed, and Spock found that he agreed. After letting him lead the teenaged officer around for some time, they came to rest, and let the boy get something to eat in a privatized break room. Then, they got down to the business they should have taken care of at the Kirk household. Spock spoke first, while the boy stuffed his mouth.

"I do not believe you to be a threat at this moment in time, but the Captain believes that your latent potential could prove dangerous at an unknown point in the future," He leads, sipping daintily at a glass of exceptionally purified water.

"So your boss thinks I'm gonna start playing god," James cuts to the chase quickly, chewing on his corn with his front teeth. His brown-blonde brows fly up in challenge, and the older male lets a small sigh escape his lips.

"If you must be brief, yes," Spock admits. "I have only seen you demonstrate but a fraction of your abilities, but if we are to believe the fallacy—"

"Fallacy?" Kirk wonders, putting the cob down for a moment, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

Dark brows furrow his tan face, and his dark eyes flicker with hooded emotion. "The watchmaker fallacy. Also commonly referred to as a theorem, analogy, or argument. There are several manners in which the current situation we find ourselves involved in are referred to. It is rooted in teleology—perhaps you've heard of something called argument from poor design. Abstract concepts, to explain the existence, non-existence, or theorized involvement of an omniscient being, commonly referred to as god."

The five-year-old's blue eyes look remarkably focused. Spock is aware that most children his age oughtn't have a clue as to what he's just said, but this boy looks like he's heard nothing stranger than the morning news. "So, somehow, you guys think I have to do with the grand scheme of things. That's bullshit."

"Captain Pike seems remarkably assured that this being has grown complacent of simply watching its' design work for itself, and in you has shown his capability to change the very watch it once created." Spock is less convinced, but he's currently trying to gauge the child's reaction.

"Well, it's not like there's some things I don't want to change about the world," Complacently, Spock realizes that the young Kirk boy has just come into a lot of wild accusations, and he's already demonstrated an intelligent imagination. He must be lost without his father, he's clearly abused by the one left in place, and his mother is too weak to put up a resistance to her own child's 'suggestions'. "But I don't think I'd like the consequences much, so I won't."

"Then the fallacy continues," Spock comments quietly. "It would be a great privilege if you would join Starfleet as a cadet in the future. I'm sure that your mind would be a welcome reprieve."

James suddenly beams. "If that's your weirdo way of saying you appreciate my ability to keep up with your crazy conversation at my age, thanks. I'll join tomorrow, if you want."

His slight grin suddenly falls, and panic seizes him. "That would be highly illogical—"

"Look, do you want me to join or not?" His grin is so sure, and Spock knows now that he's changed something else in this world, inadvertently.

Of course, being who he is, and his subconscious desire pressed upon the watch of invisible design as it was, it was no surprise that before the week was out, the young Kirk had managed to evade his mentally distant mother, his abusive stepfather, and donned the red uniform of a Starfleet cadet, a one of a kind fashion, carefully tailored for his unique size.

"Hullo there, Mister Spock," He salutes, but the Vulcan does not share his sense of amusement.

.x.

"Why would I try to cheat your test?" Ten-year-old James Kirk sounds impatient at best and murderous at worst. It depended on whom you asked. Still, his icy blue eyes cut into his professor, and his small, clenched fists were nothing to take lightly.

"I've heard the rumors about you. You and that green blooded freak have been going around and changes small details of the world—otherwise, why would a five year old little fight-crazy maniac have made it here?" The man is getting more and more aggressive, but Kirk knows that fighting him now would only serve to prove his point, so he holds his tongue and keeps his glare steady. Remain calm, Spock's voice advised him in his mind, but all he could think back to the memory of his older friend was I'm so calm right now I can hardly stand it! This is a lie, of course.

"Sir, with all due respect," Yeah right, you loser, James thinks. "Regardless of my hypothetical ability to influence the world around me, this is of no matter to my inherent intellect. Without my conscious consent, such a thing would never have changed. Still, it is with my intellect alone that I took your test, just like the rest of your students, and not only passed, but found flaw in several of your arguments presented, getting extra points not only for myself but also my peers." It probably didn't help that he was only a third of the other students' age.

Sweaty and hairy and just all around nasty, the professor tried to puff himself up and scrape his dignity. "I have no reason to believe you didn't consciously change that test, to humiliate me!"

Kirk strongly resists rolling his eyes. This is pathetic. "Sir, if I could do such a thing, why would I not change your attitude towards me as well? Why would I continue to let me patronize me in full view of my peers, instead of attempting to peacefully settle this misunderstanding we've come to?"

Grasping at straws, he gasps, "Y-you're just trying to get me reported to the board."

Looking down at his watch, Kirk really does huff and roll his eyes this time. "Look, sir," He spits the polite attachment out. "I have a meeting to attend on the other side of the Academy in five-point-five minutes. Perhaps we'll continue this discussion at a later time." Or not, the boy thinks, turning swiftly on his heel and ignoring the professor's further protests.

He air-kicks open the door to Pike's office with a scowl, and the old man can't help the exhausted smile that creeps onto his face in familiarity when James has a seat and lays his head on the table. "Long day?"

"Corley's an asshole," Jim mutters into the table angrily. "Where does he get off? Just because I ace all his stupid tests…"

"You know as well as I do that he's just scared of you," Pike shuffles around and presses some touch-screen buttons. "You're a genius, and you're not exactly easy to approach, because your best friend was the newest big-brain in town before that. They probably think the two of you are a threat. What happened this time?"

"We were speaking on the complexities of relativity in regards to black holes and their potential to shift the fabric of space time—old stuff! Then I go and prove his theorem wrong and all hell breaks loose, and the next thing I know we're arguing about xenobiology! Of course, all of this is on his test, and when I point out his misconstrued flaws, I get called out to the hall to get chewed out." The California heat makes his hair curl up more than the dry heat of Iowa's plains, but while indoors, he is the picture of a model student, hair slicked back and straight, a few blond strands falling in his face.

Pike feels blown away all over again. "You never cease to amaze me, kid," Everyone knows he's pretty much the kid's father, but he tries not to step in and fight battles for Jim very often. After all, the boy can handle himself, and he doesn't want people to think he's showing favoritism (even if he is). "By the way, where is Spock?"

"He went to go check on the Enterprise," The ship had been in design for a few years, but last year, the boy geniuses/genii—the two had a constant argument over the proper plural form of the word, but the argument often left etymology shortly after the start, and descended into complex math equations and statistical probabilities for theoretical experiments—had sought to improve the design. Jim, in particular, was fascinated with the idea of one day running a ship, and although Spock was frequently frustrated with his impatience, wild ideas, and impulsive tactics, he did assure him that this was well within his realm of possibility. So, he'd said he would not only help design the ship he one day wanted to run, but he'd make it the best of the fleet, and then he would become the Captain. Pike thought he was a cocky brat, but did nothing to quash his ambitions, even though, technically, the ship was drafted to be his within the season, after it was cleared for liftoff. Speaking about it always made the boy light up.

"Say, Jim," He hates to break his good mood, but he's been meaning to ask him questions all week. "I'm not saying this because I'm trying to pick on you. You know better." Jim nods, because he agrees, silently. "But, why don't you make this world everything you want it to be? I could be your pop, Spock could be your brother, you could be a twenty-something bumbling through life like all the rest of us, but you're going through this, the normal way. You ever think about why?"

Blue eyes go through a strange rush of emotions. "Of course I do. Do you want to see?"

Pike is unsure, but he takes the small hand offered to him, and suddenly, he is just a little piece of the constant in their universe. He's a little creator, a gem locked tighter than he'd ever known.

The world is his. It leaves him breathless, but it's all there. He's with Winona—strange, he'd only met the woman a handful of times, but she's gorgeous, what a woman, his wife, and her smile is brighter, even, than it had been before George's death. She wears lovely colors, and wears her blond hair down in ringlets. Their boy rushes around their ankles, dissembling clocks and throwing toy cars. There are no bruises on his wrists, and he speaks of how girls have cooties.

Spock is the boy next door, of similar height, who is just as smart as always, albeit more expressive than Pike had ever seen him, and when he knocks at their door and asks for Jim, he pats his son on the back and wishes them a pleasant afternoon before kissing his wife.

Suddenly, they spiral into space, and he's looking at the world without really looking; everything is peaceful, quiet, and the boy's hands are working through this dream somewhere—he can feel it. He wonders why he'd questioned the existence of something like god for so long. His boy is captain—he hands him the duty and his ship himself, and Spock stands next to him like a smiling statue, and his wife kisses all of her boys.

Being thrust out of the illusion is like a violent rip of his spine. "Do you want it back?" James Kirk's voice startles him, warm and calm. His small hands are steadying him, because he had fallen in the whole process. "Spock always says no, because perfection in this world is illogical. But I know he cries about it every once in a while. Do you two want me to make that?" He sounds hurt, and Pike knows exactly why the young professor vehemently turned the prospect down.

"I want you, just like you are, messed up, and clearly struggling with yourself just like any other boy your age would be," He hugs him and cries like he hasn't in years, and Jim cries back into his shoulder. "We don't need perfection. We want you, Jim, not some god-in-the-machine bullshit."

"I'm not in a machine," Jim teases, and Pike chuckles without much humor.

"You're no god, either."

.x.

Receiving captaincy and the finest, newest ship of the fleet at twenty is highly unprecedented, but then again, this is hardly the first record the boy has broken, around here. Many gossip behind closed doors, but Spock had nothing to do with decision, despite his posting as First Officer on the ship years prior, and Pike had refused to make the choice single-handedly as well. They wanted it well known that James T. Kirk had earned this position, by himself, without influence of his former superior officers. His genius on and off the battlefield were proven years before, and there was no reason he shouldn't have been captain at fifteen, but they wouldn't allow someone in such a high position at such a young age, so he kept fighting for his right to the title for five years, and now, he had it within his grasp.

His makeshift family could not have been prouder. Still, Spock constantly fussed at him, and the older and more confident Jim became, the more they bickered. Jim had, in his five-year struggle, found a close friend in Doctor Leonard McCoy, his partner in crime, against his will, and now they'd be flying into space together with colleagues that would go on to become his extended family.

For the following year, there was a strange transition. Their first mission had been a mess, leaving the Chief Medical Officer on board to die, and having McCoy take his place. McCoy was like the cool uncle he'd never had, always fussing and furious with James for his antics, encouraging him to find a girl to settle down with, if only to take the edge off, but the secret still left a strange wall between them. Uhura was enamored with Spock, leaving very little time for the old friends to discuss things in private. The others, he was letting in slowly—Chekov, Scotty, Sulu—but it is only after the second or third mission, where everyone on board (no one had told him that six hundred people was such a large number, and it only seemed to grow with every docking) has remained safe, but shaken, does he realize it's happening again.

"Commander Spock, meet me in private quarters, together with C.M.O. McCoy, Engineering Chief Scott, Helmsman Sulu, Lieutenant Uhura, and Ensign Chekov at seventeen hundred hours. Next in command after Mister Chekov, you have the comm. Kirk out." He's breathless, but it's nearly impossible to still his thoughts.

Even if he hadn't ordered them all in a room together, they'd known that something was wrong with their captain. The meeting only makes it obvious that the situation is serious.

He's silent for a moment before he bursts. "Spock, it's happening."

Commander Spock stiffens more than usual, and everyone else's eyes are flying around the room. Scotty is the first one to break the tension. "Well, anyone want to elaborate, or shall we all go about pretendin' we never heard anythin'?"

The Science Officer takes a moment to gather himself before speaking. "It is, as you say in the human vernacular, a long story."

"We're not on a mission right now," Sulu says, dark eyes determined. "Take your time, by all means, sir."

"We are all alive for a very good reason," Spock starts, carefully keeping his hands steady, but also keeping a watchful eye on Jim. "Of course we would come to the abject conclusion that this is largely in part thanks to our Captain, but beyond the surface, we owe him more thanks we had previously thought."

Chekov stifles a giggle, but even though he gets a glare from the Vulcan in response, no one can deny that they'd been thinking about doing the same. With a gulp, he defends himself. "I'm sorry, sir, it is just, of course we are very thankful for ze Keptin. We are, as you vwould say, happy you have called us to flatter heem."

"It's not about flattery, Chekov, I really wish it was," Kirk jumps in, his blue eyes electric and racing. "Bones, sedate me now—I know you've got a hypo on you."

"Not until your hobgoblin tells me what the hell's the matter with you!" McCoy responds angrily, pounding his fist on the table.

"Just do it—he'll explain to you while I'm out! Spock, you're in charge." The good doctor injects the sedative and watches his Captain crumple with a sick thud.

"Doctor," Spock breathes, sounding very old. "Everyone. Do you know about the watchmaker fallacy?"

.x.

In his dream, he is comfortable. For some reason, Uhura is in bed with him, and Commander Spock is as well. It figures—he has always felt attracted to the former, and the latter he had recently felt distanced from. Subconsciously, he was pulling them towards him like this, against their will.

But you could make it their will, a voice in the dark reminds him, but he squashes this quickly.

"I only wanted them to be safe," He sobs, the illusion within his illusion disappearing, and he's vaguely pleased about that, knowing that he'd forced himself to sleep before anything of the sort could happen in the real world. On the traces of his subconscious, he can see Bones, Scott, and Chekov too, waving at him and offering him a drink together. His friends. His family. They could be around forever, if he wished it so. No more worries about a mission going south, about losing those precious. They'd be in his world, in his mind; no more secrets. He could almost taste the happiness threatening to crawl from his very pores.

But then they wouldn't be them, another voice reminds him—this one is his own.

How do you know that you did not create them in the first place? The first voice asks, a question it has asked many times before, and this time, he's not sure he has a smart-aleck answer for it.

.x.

"You're saying that you think Jim is God?" McCoy can't help laughing at this farce. "You're out of your damn Vulcan mind."

Uhura seems to be quick on the uptake, however. "Wait…remember, last month? We were short on provisions, due to picking up more crewmembers at the closest Starfleet docking station and no more food. Replicators may do their best work, but it's not nearly enough, and nutrient supplements are usually required in congruence with them, in order to stay healthy. There's no reason that some people should not have gone hungry in the following few days it took us to restock at the closest Federation planet."

"What about the time when the Captain managed to coerce the admiral into dismissing his inspection because of our illegal substances brought from travels lately, knowing that whomever brought them aboard would be forced to evacuate?" Sulu ponders, joining in, followed by Scotty's outburst, then Chekov's, and Spock and McCoy hurry to get them back under control.

"Shit," Bones mutters, placing his head in his palm. "So, you're saying we don't know whether stuff we've done is our own, or if it's freakishly supernatural, through Jim? I don't buy it—not completely."

"The Captain works very hard to keep his subconscious desire to perfect things with his gifts to very minimum, and something must have been highly disturbing to his psyche to feel as though he was not well enough to remain conscious and get it under control." This forced all eyes back to the Vulcan. "I admit that my distance probably did not alleviate his troubles."

Uhura shook her head, searching for a reason she might've tipped the Captain off. "I mean, we were only discussing communications, as per usual, and maybe did some harmless flirting, but it was business as usual."

"Just talked 'bout our beauty of a ship, nothin' special," Scotty offered.

Chekov looked utterly apologetic, but he probably held no fault. "I only asked if he vwould tell me story of his younger days, and ze Keptin spoke fondly of ze academy, nothing else."

"Plants, fencing, and warp capabilities are all we ever discussed," Sulu looked lost—really, they all did.

McCoy, as they'd been speaking, seemed to get ill. When they all turned to him, he looked sorrier than any of the rest. "I just…I didn't mean any harm! All I'd said was that he ought to be happy. Said he better make nice with his mom one day, or he'd never get someone to love 'im the way he deserved. Damn fool."

There was a collective groan in the room, and McCoy could only grumble an apology back.

.x.

Your mother doesn't remember you, Spock doesn't speak to you, Uhura never pays you the attention you believe you deserve, The voice that is not his own comments soothingly. It is more difficult to not listen to it than usual, Bones' words haunting his very thoughts.

"Mister Spock and Communications Officer Uhura have their own jobs and business to attend to, which does not have to be of my prior concern at all times," It's an excuse and they both know it. He caves. "But I want to. I want them to love me. How? How do I make them love me? Without forcing them to?"

They do love you, his voice reminds. Maybe not the way you want right now. You're young.

"I'm not a child!" Of course, contrary to what he's just said, he's shouting at the voice of something akin to God in his head while trying to let his own subconscious persuade himself to lock this desire away, like he has been for years.

.x.

"So, since we've all come to the agreement that this is my fault," Leonard grouses, but moves on. Now's the time to find a solution. "What do we do? We gotta wake him up, tell him everything's okay, pat him on the back or something?"

"I am afraid that it is not that simple," Spock says, dark eyes grim and lips turned down in a frown. "Now, we must be very careful. It is uncertain what mental state we will find the captain in upon his reawakening. The only time I have experienced such a terror was six years ago."

Although they all want to know, it is Scotty who asks. "So, what the bloody hell happened?"

.x.

He was sixteen; the same age his friend—perhaps a tentative claim, at the moment—had been when he'd become a professor at Starfleet's Academy. He was applying the second time to be captain of a ship, and his credentials were more than valid enough for the position. The issue was that Admiral Burke did not like Jim Kirk. He hadn't liked George Kirk's sudden ascension to heroism and fame through his valiant sacrifice, and he sure as hell didn't like the legacy he'd left behind.

So, in retaliation, Jim had unwittingly gotten him removed from his post. This action sparked the first of many very real fights between himself and Spock. Spock tried to convince him that he was changing things, and he realized he'd made a poor decision out of spite, but couldn't logically find reason to reinstate the old officer anyways.

This had been, as it turned out, a very bad idea. Upon waking, the blonde with freshly cut hair had woken, and yet, the owner of the body, Spock had deemed, was very much absent.

"Hello, Spock," The voice that was Jim's and yet not Jim's spoke to him, and he felt the sudden, unequivocal need to bow down and revere his friend. "Do not be afraid. He means you no harm, and therefore, you will be fine."

"Who are you?" Half-Vulcan or not, his emotions are running pretty high, and he's doing as fair a job as he can manage to keep them under control.

Not-Jim smiles. "Oh, Spock. We both know who I am."

God.

"Give him back," Spock does not feel confident that he sounds demanding, and the entity talking through his friend laughs deeply.

"I am not particularly kind," The world is turning black around them, closing in, leaving them here, and a new surrounding takes over. "Still, he doesn't want you to change. You are flawed, imperfect. You do not reproduce, in the way necessary to life. But perhaps he will change that."

"What," The Vulcan breathes the question as a statement. "What do you speak of?"

"He's at a very strange and difficult time in his life, and since his emotions are too much for him to handle, his mind, and therefore myself, a subconscious notion enacted, have come to the surface." Jim's hands are spread, but he looks like he is gathering energy from the synthetic area he's building. It is remarkably easy to just stop resisting and give in.

"He doesn't know what he wants—he's sixteen," Spock assures, forcing himself up on unsteady, long legs and clutching the youth's shoulders. "Jim—Jim, I know you're in there. Don't be so upset with what I told you—you are better than this farce! Now please come back to your senses!"

The supposed deity grows very quiet before his eyes flash ice cold blue, but Jim's body does not move. "This isn't over." But for now, the false scenery fades out, leaving the academy where they'd been before, Kirk is drowsy on the floor, and Spock is shaken.

Even Burke has been returned, the young Science Officer confirms later. He decides that perhaps giving James some space during this rocky time in his development will help him. It isn't avoidance so much as distance to keep a better eye on him, away from the delusion that his presence has so much sway over the young man. Jim does not recount the experience itself, but remembers the feeling of losing himself very well, and is careful to avoid such triggers, without losing all his soul, and the love of things in this world he'd held.

Spock finds this position difficult to maintain, and yet, inherently necessary.

.x.

"You're an idiot," McCoy snorts and replies when he's finished recounting the tale. "Oh my god—excuse my French." No one laughs at his poor joke. "So, you didn't think to tell Miss Uhura that his crush on her might've been, I dunno, universe-altering?"

Everyone looks scalded, but mostly Uhura. "I'd say it's pretty easy to ascertain that he's in love with Commander Spock," She says back, looking rightfully concerned. "Me, sure, he might think I'm pretty, but it sounds like a safe bet that he's missing you a lot more."

"Actually, I'd put my money on the both of ye," Scotty interjects with a good chuckle. "Oughta hear the way he talks 'bout you. Aye, Mister Spock and Miss Uhura, the lad rambles on an' on."

"His mother's absent; his father is dead. You can't expect the kid to have everything figured out, even if he's not a kid any more." Bones offers, but he shudders to think of Jim together with that cold-blooded Vulcan more so than his dream of the lovely, womanly, strict Uhura. "Let's worry about his romance once we figure out to keep God under the surface. So, do we risk waking him up, or do we just wait and see if we never get our Captain back?"

Chekov, after a beat, replies. "I believe, the Keptin vwould say, 'action, not vwords'."

The rest smile, agreeing quietly.

.x.

It's unexpected; the pull, that is. He's sitting, passenger seat, more than a little zoned out, while the 'creator' speaks to his family. It's a mixture of unpleasant and comforting.

On the outside, the god said hello. "Ah, Mister Spock. How lovely to see you again. Miss Uhura, as lovely as always. Doctor McCoy, Mister Scott, Mister Sulu, Mister Chekov. A wonderful reunion." Spock had warned them about the changing surroundings, but it was still jarring to experience, as the Enterprise was ripped from under their heels, and replaced by the fields familiar to their captain from childhood. "Just the people I wanted here. They say that, in the beginning, there was one—myself. Then, I created humans. One," He points to Spock, and the First Officer's ears lose their point; he is remarkably human in appearance. "Two," He points to Uhura. "Of course, the rest of the story is easily accessible through historic record, so I won't bore you with the details. Still, six is a far more exciting number, if a bit unbalanced. My sincerest apologies, Miss Uhura."

"We want the captain back," Spock bickers back, knowing just how long he could speak if left to his own devices. "Waking you was an unwarranted consequence we simply had to be ready to face."

Jim, within his own mind, starts at the sound of this voice, but his subconscious awareness has not yet penetrated the wall of his enlightened psyche. "You are infuriating. If it weren't for his desires fueling my hands in this incarnation, I would readily remove you. How fortunate for you."

"Sick bastard—" McCoy adds before he stomps over through a forming river. "You give back Jim right now, nobody needs that fool man more than we do, and you are ruining everything he's worked for!"

"Ruin? I'm trying to save you fools," The intonation of Jim's voice is leaking through, so Spock considers this a small victory. "Align yourselves with me, and you are guaranteed a future of happiness and health—you could be perfect. Your 'Jim' would make all this happen for you!" He floods their minds with pleasantries, romances and lives they'd always wanted, things they find hard to pull away from. The Vulcan's resist is the strongest.

"Jim," Spock cuts in, managing to crawl and touch him. "I know you want everything to be great for us. Still, no matter how imperfect, we were becoming a family, and we need you there with us to make it through it all. It's okay that you slipped a couple times; this ability is a part of you, just as much as my human ancestry is a part of me." With fading consciousness, he attempts to flood his feelings into the younger man, assuring him that he'd work harder to understand him, that he and Uhura will listen, he doesn't have to force anyone to change, because they will make it there through trial and error.

When they wake, the ship's most prominent officers are all laid up in the sickbay, adequately cared for by the medical staff, but their Captain is suspiciously absent. Sulu, surprisingly, is the first one to bumble back to the bridge, asking what had happened. Some ensign in communications noted that the Captain had taken leave earlier that week ("Week!" He exclaims, horrified that he and the rest of the brass had been asleep that long) and had left someone qualified in charge until Mister Spock woke, and he bequeathed the captaincy to him, for the time being. The Ensign told him he had been in a rush to get to earth, taking an escape vessel with warp capabilities.

.x.

Since ducking off the ship in a hot embarrassment two weeks ago, he'd come to make a sort of reconciliation with his mother, and back-handedly apologized for some of the things he'd done in his youth. She simply smiled weakly, and commented that she was proud of who he had become, and snarked that Frank had been no good to either of them, anyways. He felt vacant, still, and was utterly unsurprised to find his First Officer-turned-Captain at his door on the morning of the third's week start. "Hello, Mister Spock," James Kirk lets him in; he won't be rude, no matter what kind of mindset he's in.

"We have a mission, sir," Spock reports, and Jim shakes his head, but the Vulcan-blooded male grabs his shoulder. How very unlike him, and his race.

"You don't have to call me sir," Jim feels very silly. He's ten years younger, after all; it's weird. It doesn't stop the feelings that rush to the surface upon standing there, so close, face to face after the whole mess.

Spock genuinely smiles, not a hint of sarcasm behind his words, for once. "Yes, I do," He says, and hands him a gold shirt with a familiar emblem.

.x.

The second year starts off tumultuously, but is mostly marked by the loud and open relationship the Communications Officer, First Officer, and Captain have achieved. Uhura is very vocal about what she wants, from both of them, James is not so much inexperienced in bed, but more so completely clueless about committed relationships, and can't control his affection for both of them, so it spills out in droves, and Spock, for all his exterior, is fiercely protective of the younger male and female to the point that it drives their fellow shipmates insane. Still, Uhura, after a time, realizes that Kirk had found her body more familiar than anything else, because he'd only known women. So she eased herself out of the relationship after a long talk with her Captain, convincing him that everything was going to be okay.

Spock loved him too, after all. So she becomes more like McCoy had been to him, a counselor and relative, and leaves the romance where it has always been. She is very exclusive, despite her prior misconceptions that she was fine being treated like she was less important than either Kirk to Spock, or vice versa.

For at least that year, and the three following, Kirk's instincts to change this world and prevail as its' watchmaker were sufficiently quelled, quieted by his slow understanding and bonds rooted in this imperfect place.

By the time he is twenty-five, he realizes that he has not so much as thought about fixing this world.

The watchmaker, it appears, has gone, and in its' place, the fallacy riddled Kirk rests happily, sleeping like he has never slept before, in his life of a quarter-century.

He is, in that moment, wholly human.