Leonard's fingers hovered over the incinerator, the vial held carefully between two fingers. He'd thought of other ways to get rid of the damnable solution—pouring it down the drain (but some idiot might take fall into the sewer system and swallow a mouthful by pure, unlucky accident, so that admittedly stupid idea was out), tossing it into a volcano (but fuck if he knew what the heat would do to it, and with his luck, the volcano itself would mutate and turn into a monster that he couldn't kill, so that was out too), and hell, he even considered injecting it into himself (because he was already infected, but he didn't know what side effects that would cause, so he crossed that off the list as well)—and the only safe option he had was simply incinerating it.

Erase it from existence, just like Olduvai.

Glancing at Jim, he found the other man frowning. Jim had protested his destruction of C-24, because what if they needed it in the future? What if Leonard found someone he just couldn't live without?

Leonard didn't have the heart to tell Jim he'd already found that someone, and he couldn't make Jim go through what he had.

Especially if doing so would be for Leonard's selfish need to not be alone in the universe for the rest of eternity.

"Bones—" Leonard dropped the vial, shutting the lid and pressing the button to destroy it before Jim could tempt him to change his mind (again). Jim gasped and jerked forward, as if to try and save the cursed chemical. But it was too late, and he could watch with mixed emotions as the incinerator flashed and disintegrated the vial and its contents.

Watching it disappear right before his eyes was freeing. Leonard knew it was illogical, as Spock would say, to feel that way, but…

But there was a sense of finality—of closure—that made it all feel so worth it. Knowing that the horror of Olduvai was over and done with…

It was damn near heavenly.

"It's better this way," Leonard said aloud, meeting Jim's gaze. The frayed look in Jim's eyes softened into understanding, and he nodded.

"I guess," Jim allowed, a teasing glint appearing in his eye. "Scared of a little competition, eh Bones?"

Leonard snorted. "Please. I've got two hundred years under my belt. What makes you think I'd have competition?"

Jim grinned. "That superstrength must be useful to have, lugging that huge ego of yours around."

Leonard raised an eyebrow. "It's useful when I have to lug your drunken ass out of whatever bar you stumbled into."

"What are you talking about?" Jim quipped with a mock angelic look. "I'm light as a feather."

"Lightweight's more like it."

Jim's jaw dropped in indignation. "Am not!"

An amused smile tugged at Leonard's lips. "And now we're reduced to a five-year-olds' argument. Wonderful." As Jim bantered back, he was inordinately pleased to see that his friend was back to normal, no longer thinking about the now-destroyed vial of C-24.

It meant a lot to Leonard that Jim had accepted who he really was now that he was over the shock. He did, of course, ask a lot of questions about the past, from the old communications system to the so-called 'primitive' weapons he'd used in the Marines to what kind of toilet Leonard liked the most. And no, that wasn't the most inane question Jim had asked, and no, Leonard wasn't likely to tell anyone what that was, mostly because it felt like he'd lost a few brain cells to it.

Leonard had exhausted his memory banks regaling Jim about the past, shortening only the more painful memories—such as his family, the men he'd lost in Olduvai, and the various not-so-good deeds he'd done for over fifty years after his sister died and left him alone with this horrible secret.

Freeing. Yes, that was definitely what it felt like to have someone know about him again. The fact that it was Jim made it so much more meaningful, because Jim…

Well, he was the first real friend Leonard had made in two hundred years. Real, because while he felt fond of the other friends he'd made, they hadn't really known him—known who he was and what he'd done and where he's been and will be and why…

Why he wouldn't ever die easily, like they would.

Jim Kirk was his best friend. Possibly the only best friend he'd ever know. And now that the vial was destroyed, there was no way Leonard could keep him forever.

That realization, now that it was all said and done, was the most painful thing Leonard had ever felt.

Two hours after the destruction of the C-24 vial...

After Leonard had nodded off in the guest bedroom, Jim locked his door and darkened the windows, shutting off the vidcams that were installed for his protection before heading over to his bed.

Leonard had once commented on it, calling it a monstrosity and asking Jim why the hell his bed frame was so huge, thick and obnoxious. In reply, Jim had referred to the usual nocturnal activities all sexual creatures loved to do, citing that a 'sturdy bed was necessary for maximum enjoyment' or other some such nonsense. Well, it wasn't completely nonsense, but the truth was, Jim hadn't brought a girl to this room since he was awarded captaincy of the Enterprise.

In any case, sex wasn't the main reason why he had such a bulky bed frame.

Not many knew this about him, but Jim was a fan of the classics. He was impulsive and unpredictable, yes, but that was when he had to improvise. His best laid plans however were all taken from the masters, and his best kept secrets were all scurried away in classic, timeless hiding places—such as his headboard.

Easing open a piece of the wooden panel, Jim pressed his thumb into the built-in screen, and a moment later, a soft hiss was heard as a part of the headboard slid open. Jim glanced at the door, wondering if Leonard had heard that near-quiet sound with his enhanced hearing. When nothing happened, he replaced the panel and sat back to stare contemplatively at the six vials in the safe.

All labeled C-24.

The End.