Archive of Our Own

ONE LOOK AT YOU

By Natasha Barry

STAR TREK TOS, published in FANTASTIC FANTASIES 1999, edited 2022. 

Content:  No Warnings Applicable.  Kirk meets up with – ref SHORE LEAVE ep – old foe, Finnegan, and events transpire from there.  A bit of K/S.  Kirk & McCoy, Kirk & Spock, Kirk & Finnegan. Author’s Note:  Inspired by the 1950s film “House of Wax”

“Are you sure you want to talk to him?”

It was McCoy, sitting across from his commanding officer, James T. Kirk, as Kirk espied his former Starfleet Academy nemesis, Finnegan – even the name was a curse, to Jim Kirk – at a table not far from theirs. 

It occurred to him, Finnegan was aware of the scrutiny, had possibly noted Kirk’s arrival in the eatery, especially as Kirk was wearing his captain’s green tunic, the distinctive wraparound which his few fellow officers, of equal command distinction, seldom wore.  The other captains just didn’t look as good in it, was McCoy’s snide observation.  And Kirk wore it because it was comfortable and even his First Officer, Spock, had claimed the distinctive pattern was practical.

“I should probably get it out of my system.”  He was thinking aloud, coming to a decision.

“I thought you did that when you beat the shit out of him on that shore leave planet.”  They really needed an official name for the place, but the caretaker wasn’t obliging.

“That was a substitute.  Now I’ve got the real thing.”

“Just remember, he’s a fellow officer, and it’s a court martial offense.”

He wasn’t planning on belting Finnegan.  Not really.  But it answered a question for him, he’d never bothered to research, of what became of Finnegan.  Those were lieutenant’s stripes, and Kirk reckoned the unruly former upper classman was lucky he’d gotten that far.  There were several Federation ships in orbit, and Finnegan would be on shore leave from any of those.  It was only the merest stroke of luck the Enterprise crew was availing itself of shore leave privileges at the same time and location.  And what further luck, that Kirk and McCoy had adjourned to this restaurant, in the planet’s most populated city, for a meal.  It was too good an opportunity to pass up, confronting the bully.

There weren’t many steps, and he was at the table.  “Finnegan,” he greeted the hunched over figure.  Not the best posture, really.  The dining companion was already looking up, evaluating a superior officer.

The tousled blond head lifted.  “Jim.”  The Irish accent was less pronounced than Kirk remembered.  “Will you leave us a minute, Joe?”  The other officer obediently rose, acknowledging Kirk’s rank with a “Sir,” and some curiosity or a hint of recognition in his eyes. 

Kirk took the empty chair.

After a long silence, with a combatant evaluation going on, Finnegan finally conceded.  “I see you made captain.  But I knew you would.  If someone didn’t kill you first.”

“I command the Enterprise.”

“You were always first in everything.  And I know about you and the Enterprise.  It’s been easy enough to keep tabs.  Not so easy keeping tabs on me, huh?”

Kirk frowned.  “I’ve never tried.”

“Well, now that’s wounding, Jim boy, and you do it so easily.”

“We weren’t friends, Finnegan.”

“No, you’re right.  I was never good enough for you.”

There was something wrong here, some piece of the puzzle he was missing.  But maybe he always suspected that.  “You were a plague, my personal plague.”

Finnegan smirked.  “You haven’t figured it out, have you?”

“What?”

“I wasn’t after you ‘cause I disliked you.  But you made a point of avoiding everyone.”

“You wanted to be friends?”  If that was so, Finnegan sure had a peculiar way of earning regard.

“Let’s just say, I wanted to be more than that, but the most I got, was a few minutes of your time.”

“Oh.”  It was so basic an explanation, it never occurred to Kirk.  But then he’d been distracted when he was a cadet, not only with studies and training, but with Ruth.  Or maybe it was because he’d never thought of Finnegan in that capacity, as someone whose sexual proclivities were directed towards men, or upon himself.  He’d taken the simplest explanation for his former classmate’s behavior – animosity or envy – and run with it. It wasn’t like him, really, but he’d been much younger then and not searching for complicated reasonings when more reasonable ones were available.

The other man was evaluating him.  “You haven’t changed much.  You were always pretty.”

Kirk grimaced; he’d never liked being called pretty.  Usually, his good looks were a distraction and people frequently underestimated him as a result.  Of course, physical appeal and charm could also be used as a disarming and effective negotiating tool, he’d discovered since assuming command.  It was odd how often people allowed themselves to be influenced by another’s physical appeal.

“You didn’t like being ‘Pretty Jimmy’ in school, either.”

“You’ve changed, but not that much.  Are you still trying to get my attention?”

“If I could, I would.  But I know I haven’t a chance in hell of getting your attention for more than it takes to satisfy your curiosity.  I’ve even heard the rumors about you and your first officer, but I heard the same rumors about you and Gary Mitchell.  Now, I know you’ve always been attracted to women – and you’ve quite the reputation along that line – but maybe your curiosity’s got you into investigating aliens.  But I know you’d never be with a man – willingly.  I’d bet my life on it.”

Withholding his anger, Kirk slowly rose, leaning across the table, fists pressing into the smooth surface.  “You haven’t changed.  The weapons may have altered, but the motivation’s the same.”

As he walked away, he heard a quiet, “Sorry, Jim.”

When he returned to McCoy, the man was saying, “So how’d it go?”

They hadn’t had time to place an order. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

Once they were on the street, McCoy opened with, “So did he proclaim undying love, or is that all over with?”

“What?”

“Am I right?”

“How’d you know?”

“Psychology, Captain.  When you were talking about him before it didn’t make sense what he was doing.  I mean, he wasn’t a real enemy of yours, though you must have felt he was.  But the kinds of torment he put you through, is what an immature mind conceives when he’s trying to get someone’s attention.  Someone he’s infatuated with.”  A shrug.  “I figured if you hadn’t figured it out, you didn’t need to know.”

“Remind me to talk to you more often.”

“About your past?  Anytime.  I’m fascinated.”

===

They weren’t staying on the planet, so Kirk returned to the ship, figuring a workout session was just what was required to ease his tension.  As usual, he was in briefs and tights, going through warm-up exercises, the gym nearly empty with shore leave having commenced and skeleton crews in place.  That left even less people in the gym than usual for the time of day, and that was fine.  Quite often, there’d proved to be a few too many of the crew showing up, whenever he established a regular schedule for his workouts.

From warming up, he’d usually go onto boxing or mixed combat techniques with a computerized opponent, and he enjoyed fencing, but Sulu was his regular partner, and Sulu was on the planet.  But there were gymnastics and martial arts disciplines available to him.

His concentration slipped, when during kick boxing he realized he had acquired an audience of one, a lone male figure, a crewman – in tights and wrap – he didn’t recognize.  He halted abruptly, his skin glistening with accumulated sweat, so he headed toward his abandoned towel.  Wiping his face, he walked up to the crewman.  “Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” said the young man, not at all intimidated, a pleasant smile igniting his pleasant features.  “I was enjoying your workout.  You show a marked disposition for the discipline.”   

Kirk frowned, wondering why the crewman was claiming his attention.  Occasionally, but not often, he’d be halted in his session by ship’s business, and – naturally – the bridge had been informed his location.

While Kirk was wiping his face and neck with the towel, the man’s eyes – the crewman about Kirk’s age, probably making him an Ensign or Lieutenant – were taking a leisurely tour of his body. 

Oh, oh, Kirk was thinking.  And he didn’t feel right about this, perhaps because this was his own crewman – awkward - or possibly because Finnegan was uppermost in his mind.

And even broader smile broke out on the crewman’s face.  “Since neither of us is on shore leave – yet – I was wondering if you’d like to grab a meal.  I haven’t been posted here long.  I’m thinking this is my lucky day.”

“I don’t think so, Mister. . .?”  Kirk prompted, waiting on the formal utterance.

The smile dimmed, but the crewman obliged.  “Solar Harris.  Ensign.”

Before Kirk turned away, he had something to say.  “Ensign, a bit of advice.  Always research your superior officers on any ship you’re assigned to.  Get to know their faces.  It can prevent you making any fatal errors.”

Harris paled.  “Yes, sir.”

As Kirk headed for the showers, he wondered if the officer was mentally going through the list of superior officers and coming up with any options which would include the ship’s captain. 

Kirk was well known in Starfleet.  It was odd Solar Harris hadn’t recognized him.  On the other hand, it wasn’t as if Kirk’s stripes were showing.  How many superior officers would he recognize if he met them out of uniform?

It was unfortunate for Harris; Kirk noted his presence when exiting the sonic shower.  Though Kirk was draped in a wrap, decently covered, it was still irritating for him to be caught this way, considering the crewman’s earlier intention.  Harris was making him uncomfortable, and rarely was anyone allowed to do that.  He decided to ignore the crewman, who he sensed was sending surreptitious glances his way.

Out of curiosity, Kirk snuck a look in that direction.  Harris was pulling on his uniform tunic, and Kirk verified the Ensign’s rank.  The uniform was red, signifying Engineering or Support.  Of course, Support covered a wide arena, including Communications and Security.  In his opinion, it would be easier if Starfleet produced a fourth branding color and McCoy had suggested purple.  “A royal guard.”  Oh, well.  He hadn’t seen any paperwork on the new posting, but he would bring up the crewman’s record and transfer orders on the computer.  So far, his impression of the officer wasn’t positive.

“Mr. Harris.”  Kirk nodded a greeting, sober faced as always around new crewmen, especially ones he had doubts about.  Without dropping the wrap, Kirk sat, pulling the uniform pants on, followed by socks and boots.  That done, he dropped the wrap, reaching for the green command tunic, imagining he could hear the gulp in the Ensign’s throat as the color was revealed.  Starship commander green, yes, sir.  But he was merciful, not looking at the other man even as he adjusted the tunic by affixing the clasp. 

He was, however, covering his sudden self-consciousness for this was one of those few occasions he allowed himself to realize the provocative picture he must be presenting to the crew, with his compact musculature contained within a body molding uniform.  Like McCoy said, none of the other starship captains seemed to wear the damn thing, but most of them – as McCoy pointed out – super fit though they had to be, wouldn’t look as comfortable in it.  

There followed a remark about Kirk’s form being shown to advantage, and the conversation then led to Kirk asking Spock his opinion on the wraparound – as opposed to the gold tunic - which was when Spock proclaimed himself to be highly in favor of it. 

But now Kirk was wondering if he should be wearing the thing at all, though he liked trading it off with the standard gold, where his command status was indicated merely by his captain’s stripes, rather than any designated color, but still. . . He was proud of his achievement, being a starship captain.  But was he, perhaps, taunting his crew, or even, perhaps, his fellow more conservative starship captains by wearing something they wouldn’t look as good in? 

Kirk mentally shrugged.  There had to be more important things for him to worry about.  The uniform was comfortable, and that’s all there was to it.  It was Starfleet who had issued the thing, after all. 

“Captain?”

Kirk had been headed out the room, steadfastly ignoring the man who’d loitered.  He turned.  “Yes?”

“I just wanted to apologize, sir.  I didn’t realize who you were.  If I had – “

“If you had?” Kirk prompted, for this was sounding interesting.  But the officer was walking a very thin line and a slight wind would cast him in either direction.  How would the Ensign maneuver around this one?  That would give Kirk an idea of the crewman’s abilities.

“Well, I would have looked, sir, but I would have been less obvious about it.”

Kirk held back the smile, all the way to the Turbo Lift.  Ensign Harris, it seemed, would work out just fine.

He’d change into civilian attire, then return to the planet’s surface.  He was supposed to be meeting McCoy for dinner, and they were intent on visiting a few of the well-known hotspots, in pursuit of the fairer sex, as McCoy insisted on terming them.

The intercom sounded.  “Yes,” he responded.

“Captain.”  It was Spock, from the bridge.  “I am pleased I caught you before you beamed down.”

“I was about to.”

“There is some news from the surface which I thought you should be made aware of.  As you know, Communications is monitoring planetary transmissions.”  This meant the news media, and this was standard practice for orbiting vessels.

“Yes?”  Kirk frowned, for he was slightly alarmed in advance, for his exec wouldn’t be delaying him over a trifle.

“A Lieutenant Finnegan. . .”

“Yes, I saw him.”  Spock would recollect Finnegan, just as McCoy had.  “I spoke with him earlier today.  What is it, Spock?”

“He has been found dead, Jim.”

“What?  How?”

“It is being reported as a possible suicide.  Drowning.  Apparently, he was an excellent swimmer.  I do not know if the investigation is continuing or if the file is closed.”

“I spoke with him a few hours ago.  I know he was drinking, but he wasn’t drunk.    He was with someone, Spock.  Perhaps someone from his ship.”

“Will you inform the authorities?”

“Perhaps I shall.  I’m beaming down.  I’ll be joining McCoy.”

===

First, he went to the location he was to meet McCoy, on the chance his friend had beat his arrival.  Seeing McCoy wasn’t there, Kirk tracked down the nearest authorities, where he related the events of the afternoon; his unexpected meeting with Finnegan and leaving him in the restaurant.  Their discussion was brief, he maintained, briefer in time than was comfortably explained to an investigating officer, except to say he and Finnegan hadn’t seen each other in years and were neither friends nor enemies.  His own rank and reputation were already known in this sector, Kirk could tell, from the sly glances he was intercepting, nothing alarming, just curious.  And the interrogating officer assigned to the case was quick to offer refreshment and thank him profusely for interrupting his shore leave by stopping by.  Overall, Kirk had the impression this would be considered more a Starfleet matter, if a comprehensive investigation was forthcoming.

But Kirk sensed he took them by surprise when he asked, “May I see the body?”

“Is it necessary?”

“Not really, except I talked with him today, and it seems very strange.”

They seemed to buy that, and Kirk was escorted to their morgue.  A glance at a timepiece on the wall showed it was long past time he should have met up with McCoy, and he knew his friend would be waiting, possibly worried or just as possibly, angry.  He’d call, but his communicator didn’t operate in security shielded buildings.  He’d have to wait until he was out in the open.

At the morgue they were greeted by an official, then Kirk was escorted to a viewing of the remains.  An autopsy had been performed, with the conclusion being what was already determined – a drowning.  The concealing sheet was pulled from the torso far enough to display the blond head, and Kirk saw it was Finnegan, his upperclassman nemesis from the Academy, the same guy he’d run into earlier.  But the coincidence of it all, the timing of the events of the day, had him confused. 

“We’ve heard from his ship’s medical officer.  They’ll be claiming the body tonight.  Their CMO has been on leave.”

At least everything was according to procedure.  The planetary regulations having been met, now Starfleet procedures would be gliding into place. 

“Finnegan was an expert swimmer.  He used to swim relays.”  If it was his own crewman, he’d be having McCoy perform an autopsy as well. 

“Even expert swimmers are capable of drowning.”  The medical attendant was not without sympathy, likely presuming Kirk to be a fellow shipmate of the deceased.  “A moment of confusion, of dizziness, or a cramp.  The intoxication level did not seem sufficient for disorientation or collapse.” 

Kirk moved nearer the body, recalling how devious Finnegan’s mind had always been, how vital.  With a sparkle all his own.  But now he was dull, as all corpses.  “Do you mind?  He had a birthmark we liked to tease him about.”  Then he pulled the sheet down, displaying the surgeon’s careless adhesions sealing the skin back together, a dead man not requiring the exercise of cosmetic skill.  McCoy rarely had to resort to cutting a corpse open, but the medical customs on this planet would be something other than Starfleet norm. 

Corpses were an unpleasant sight, especially when the victim was someone of personal acquaintance, but Kirk ignored his body’s instinctive recoil, bringing up the right arm for examination.  He sighed, for there it was, the heart shaped birthmark, which was usually hidden by a sleeve.  Through countless athletic competitions in school, Kirk had become familiar with the location of the aberration on the inside forearm.  Since most skin imperfections were lasered clean, it was considered a distinction Finnegan kept the aberration. 

Turning away from his task, Kirk said, “Thank you,” to both men, for there hadn’t been any Federation requirement allowing him such access as he had been given.

When he met up with the moderately worried, quietly simmering McCoy, Kirk gave him a rundown on the events of the day.  “Well, don’t that beat all,” was McCoy’s comment, even more surprised than Kirk had been at the news.  They discussed it further over dinner, finally adjourning to one of the local nightclubs hoping to get lucky with the quantity of unaccompanied females available. 

At least they knew it wasn’t their uniforms which attracted company, as they both were in civilian attire acceptable to the local populace.  Kirk was in one of the jumpsuits he tended to favor, while McCoy was resplendent in something resembling a caftan.  Kirk’s emerald green jumpsuit had been purchased for him by Spock, on one of the Vulcan’s rare leaves taken off the ship and presented to him on his last birthday.  Spock had stated the material attracted his attention as it was an approximate shade to the green command wrap. 

“Where’d you get the get up?” Kirk asked McCoy about the caftan.  He was thinking his CMO was barely recognizable. 

“Just here, just today.  And this is the most comfortable thing I’ve worn in ages.  I swear, Jim boy, the boys are just hanging.”  

Kirk grinned.  “Just don’t get carried away.  It’s only uniform of the day.”

McCoy spotted potential romances for their leave, as two women were across the room and keeping an eye on them.  “That’s a signal if ever I saw one.”  He leaned over to give some advice.  “And you can let your hair down, Captain.  You’re not in uniform, you’re not on the ship, and you are here to play.”

“I haven’t spotted any of the crew here.”  Therefore, he was in complete agreement with his CMO’s assessment.  He conducted his own quick evaluation of the women, wondering how the partners would be pairing up, but knowing – as usual – it would be decided by the women.  “Ready?”

Together they walked over and were quickly assessed.  To Kirk’s relief, it was the blonde who indicated he should take the seat next to her, as he’d always been partial to blondes, perhaps because of the similarity to his lady love, Ruth.  She’d been the first girlfriend who hadn’t been a passing infatuation.  Though she was several years his senior, when he was an instructor at the Academy, he’d given serious thought to marrying her, but it wouldn’t have worked, and they both knew it.  Because when the day came for him to marry, it would be to a command of his own, and not to a woman.  But it was funny, how the day was bringing the past to life for him.  With a mention of Gary and a meeting with Finnegan and now Ruth.  He’d never been one to live in the past, but the past was seeming a very energetic present right now.

The evening was pleasant, with only light narcotic beverages being imbibed, even by McCoy, who normally wet his lips with something stronger, but maybe that was when he was bored.  And he wasn’t now.  But Kirk was never a heavy drinker, preferring to remain in physical and mental control of his faculties whenever possible, and the women were an additional focus for McCoy, as it was difficult romancing when one was listing onto a table.

“And haven’t you been to the wax museum yet?”  Lisann – Kirk’s companion for the evening – was saying, and her friend – Loon – joined in.  “Yes, it’s wonderful.  It’s built quite a reputation for itself.  It’s one of our local tourist attractions.”  Lisann took over, “Yes, you must see it.  We’ll come with you.”

McCoy received a nod of confirmation from Kirk.  “That settles it then.  Tomorrow, ladies?  We can have lunch, and then onto the show.”

The arrangements were made quickly, with Loon recommending a local restaurant for them to meet at.  It seemed to the Enterprise officers their lives – in the short-term – were being effectively taken-in-hand.

In leaving the nightclub, it was only a short walk to the ladies’ door, and McCoy was able to bestow a friendly kiss upon Loon’s soft cheek, as Kirk contented himself – chivalrously, he hoped – with a deep bow over Lisann’s hands cupped lightly in his own.      

A slightly disappointed McCoy confided, “Well, there’s hope for tomorrow,” as they signaled for beam up.

Kirk was disappointed as well, but he had more on his mind than McCoy.  If he and Lisann shared more than a slight touch tomorrow, that would be great.  But if they didn’t, he wouldn’t count his leave as wasted.  Sometimes, it was enough for him to be able to relax out of uniform, to blend in with the crowd.  He was so accustomed to sublimating his sexual energy into work it was second nature to him.

He made his way to Deck Five with McCoy in tow, and McCoy accompanied him inside.  Without delay, Kirk went to his desk and piped into the local news network.

McCoy went to the conveyer, retrieving the brandies he’d ordered.  “Finnegan?”

“Not yet.”  Kirk was keeping an ear tuned, while he and McCoy started discoursing, as usual, the same as they always did over drinks.  Then he heard it.  “Here,” he gestured to McCoy, who leaned over his shoulder to glance at the comm screen.

The newsclips were displaying photos of the “newly deceased Starfleet officer,” and that encompassed his official service portrait as well as casual poses, likely provided by friends or shipmates.  Most were torso or bust shots of Finnegan in uniform, but there were a few of him playing tennis and one of him in swimming briefs.

With his usual eye for detail, Kirk noted the birthmark wasn’t visible in any of the frames.  But he didn’t understand his obsession with the case, why it was consuming so much of his energy.

“Hey.”  McCoy put up two fingers, smudging away the furrows created by his friend’s frown.  “You got anything to tell me?”

For a moment, Kirk was reflecting if any other man had touched him that way, he’d have given him an uppercut to the jaw.  Ordinarily that thought never occurred to him.  But there was this Finnegan business and Ensign Harris.  “I don’t know why I’m concerned.  I was questioning myself, even when I was viewing the body.”

“Well, you knew him.  And I’ll tell you something else.”  McCoy returned to his chair.  “It’s because you’re overladen with responsibility.  You hold yourself responsible for everything, even when it’s nothing to do with you.  And involving someone you barely know.  Maybe barely knew.  I mean, Finnegan’s not even your crewman, let alone a friend.  You don’t have jurisdiction.  If anyone’s going to be inquiring into this crewman’s death, let it be his captain, and that’s not you.  So, let’s enjoy our leave, to be spent in the company of the lovely ladies whose acquaintance we’ve been fortunate enough to have made.  And that’s it.  Case closed.”

“Logical.  You sound like Spock.”

“Don’t say it.”

“Speaking of which.”  Kirk signaled the bridge, quickly speaking with the duty officer.  There was nothing to report, and Spock had turned over command at the regular changeover of shift.

After he closed off communication, McCoy said, “Think we’ll get anywhere tomorrow?”

“You’ve got a one-track mind, Doctor.  But if nothing else, at least we’ll be visiting that famous wax museum.”

“I didn’t think they did that kind of thing anymore.”

“We’re not on Earth now.”

===

For the day’s outing, Kirk dressed even more casually than the night before, in plain shirt and denim slacks left over from his last visit into the Sol star system – home.  He’d thought, at the time, the pants were a little snug, but he’d been assured that’s how they were supposed to be worn.  He was so accustomed to the loose fit of his uniform slacks, or the overall confining quality of jumpsuits, whenever he changed into the denim, it took him several minutes to stop adjusting himself.  Then he’d finally feel so comfortable, he’d resent having to change out of them. 

Leaving his quarters to make his departure time with McCoy, who was waiting in the transporter room, Kirk couldn’t help one more reflexive motion towards his crotch.

He was caught in the awkward shifting by, “A problem, Captain?” 

Well, at least it wasn’t Solar Harris.  “Hi, Spock.  Just these pants I’m getting used to.  I’ll be okay.”

Dark eyes were carefully assessing the problem area.  “They do seem constricting.”  The piercing eyes lifted, and Kirk could have sworn he detected a twinkle in them.  “However, the fit would seem exact.  Perhaps it is the difference between your uniform and this casual attire.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.  On your way to the bridge?”

“There is research I am undertaking, in the Lab.  But I must retrieve data from my quarters.”

“I’m meeting McCoy.  We’re beaming down.” 

“Have a good day, Captain.”

Hopefully better than yesterday.

As Spock continued down the corridor, Kirk went onto the Turbo Lift.  Upon entering the transporter room, Kirk caught sight of the transporter chief’s expression of incredulity, quickly masked, and then McCoy was upon him.  “You’re going to let me have one of the girls, aren’t you, Captain?”

Then they were on the pads, and it was on the planet Kirk was able to get it out of his system.  “What are you on about?”

“I guess dignity’s gone out the window with the uniform, huh?  Well, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, I always say.”

Kirk looked down at himself, loath to think he was being teased, but if there was something wrong, he wanted to know about it.  “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Jim.  You don’t see it?”  McCoy’s tone turned sour.  “How can you miss it?  In fact, I can measure it from here.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“It’s not nothing, all right.  In fact, it’s quite something.  Maybe we should forget the girls entirely.”

There it was again.  “McCoy.”

“Well, all right, but if you get blamed for inciting a riot, don’t blame me.”  He turned away, but he wasn’t about to drop the topic.  “I’m surprised Spock let you off the ship.”

The women, anyway, seemed to find his appearance acceptable, and not a word was spoken about his pants, or his shirt, for that matter, though it was a relaxed fit, it was revealing his broad chest to anyone who cared to examine him.  At least McCoy hadn’t complained about the shirt.  And Spock approved the entire outfit.  At least he hadn’t said anything disparaging.  And Spock noticed everything.

Entering the luncheon establishment picked out by the women, McCoy leaned into him at one point to whisper, “And I thought the jumpsuit was bad.”

Even as they took their seats at the table, McCoy hadn’t finished.  “Don’t mind me, I’m only envious.”

There were times McCoy effectively got on his nerves. 

But the meal proceeded effortlessly, their dates proving excellent company, and it was a foregone conclusion they’d be spending the rest of the day together, both women having the day off, which was fortuitous.

“So, what’s so great about this wax museum, anyway?” McCoy was asking, the brunette he was partnered with seeming to hang on his every word or falling into that southern drawl the doctor occasionally put on.

Without his uniform, and with neither lady realizing who it was they were in company with, Kirk was finding it easier than usual to relax.  Natives tended to be disapproving, impressed or totally disinterested in his rank, and it was always impossible to predict which way it would go.  For comfort’s sake, when he wasn’t wearing the uniform, he preferred to be Jim Kirk for however long he could get away with it, though there’d always be a risky moment when the identification of his transport was known.  For non-Terrans, Jim short for James was a non-sequitur, but Kirk was less common and so the association was usually reached in record time, especially when it came to officials, as it was his fate to be one of the better-known starship commanders.

“So, Jim, ready to go?”

It was Lisann enquiring, and he realized he’d completely missed what conversational gambit had transpired following McCoy’s query.  He rose, the four of them leaving the restaurant, McCoy having put the meals on his credit chit.

The wax museum wasn’t far, and they paid their admission, entering, Kirk glancing around, as he always did, reflexively on alert.  “I haven’t been in one of these since. . .   I’ve never been in one of these.  Wax sculptures?”

“Yes.”  Lisann was short with him while grabbing his arm, pulling him along as they walked into the first room, a path indicated by imbedded lighting in the floor.  “It’s very similar to what you have in your culture.  Or is it what you used to have?”  She giggled.  “I don’t know.  But it’s been refined here.  Not a lost art, since we’ve made improvements over the maintenance and the production.  At least that’s how it’s been explained to me.  I was here before, and one of the workers told me the process.”

They paused at the first exhibit.  Kirk didn’t recognize the historical figures, but was fascinated by the total affect, with costumes, hair and presentation.  And the figures would pass for humanoid.  He’d have to mention it to Spock.  Certainly, with Vulcan’s proximity to the sun, they wouldn’t have developed this type of sculpture.  “Where do they get the faces, or are they all historical representations?”

It was Loon who responded.  “When exact likenesses aren’t in the database, an artist goes out into the street.”

“You mean they choose someone at random?”

“If the face is what they are looking for.”

Kirk was going to follow up on that, but McCoy had his own observation to make.  “It’s really something, isn’t it, Jim?” 

“Since you’re impressed, I should get Spock down for this.”

“You think we can bring a couple on board?  I don’t think Spock is beaming anywhere.”

Kirk shrugged.

Lisann gestured they move on.  “There are various rooms, and there are several Terran heroes who have been represented.”

McCoy was grinning in expectation.  “That I’d like to see.”

They gradually made their way, from one room to another, carefully following the imbedded path.  Kirk was a little disconcerted at some of the figures represented, some posed in the act of committing heinous crimes.  It wasn’t only heroes but villains being displayed, but they were all equally fascinating.  He was very intrigued by the artistry involved.  It was like a living play, with actors frozen in place, only there was no movement, leaving an eerie complacency.  Some with ghastly visages, some with contemplative demeanor.  Figures frozen in time, locked into a singular moment.  Death without erosion.  The ghosts of the past, standing still and silent for all eternity.

But one figure had McCoy grasping his arm.  It was Kodos the Executioner.  With all that had gone on in the past and more recently with the man himself a guest on the Enterprise, this was too close and too soon.  After a shocked glance, Kirk quickly moved on. 

It did seem a surprising number of humans – Terrans – and humanoids were being depicted, and there were token representations of Klingons, Orions and even Romulans – now it was known what Romulans looked like, unfortunately for Vulcans, who were altogether displeased at the association.  But non-humanoid aliens were sparsely represented.  It could be this culture had little exposure to non-humanoid species.    Certainly, Kirk hadn’t noted any non-humanoid species in his time on the planet.

Then they came to one room, and the muscular figure caught his attention immediately, causing him to falter in his step.  McCoy caught the abrupt action and followed the direction of his gaze.  “Finnegan?  It’s a coincidence.”

“Is it?” Kirk wondered, returning the whisper.  It was disturbing the women were with them, as he wanted a closer look at the standing figure clad in brief attire, a tunic covering it neck to thigh, a cloak covering the shoulders, and broad wrist bands.  He quickly took in the banner: TERRAN: MIDDLE AGES, “VIKING”.  Well, that was succinct.  But the face was so Finnegan, even McCoy jumped on it.

Kirk moved to one side of the figure, conscious of McCoy’s movement in the other direction.  If he could only get close enough.  But the display was wide, the figure set too deeply inside the raised display.  He couldn’t reach the arm, to push that wrist band away, to see. . .  Yes, it was ridiculous.  Finnegan’s body would be on-board ship by now, according to what the locals said.  It must be a coincidence.  A dreadful coincidence.

He became aware the women were watching, unnerved, no doubt puzzled by his behavior.  “I’m sorry.  There’s just an odd resemblance to someone I knew.”

A few feet behind him came the answer.  “Would that be the young man who died yesterday?  A Starfleet officer?”

Kirk turned.  It was a gentleman two or three inches above his own height, not intimidating, instead casual in demeanor.  “You are?”

“The proprietor, and the artist.  My collection is acquired from,” a shrug, “everywhere.  And so is my inspiration.  The news, inside the shops.  The histories of various societies.  When I’m working on a display, sometimes a particular face will inspire me.  Other times, a face will demand a certain stature be achieved from me, and I’ll do my best to form the figure.  A mutual tribute.”

“That’s interesting.  So, you got this face from the news accounts?  That’s fast work.”  He didn’t know whether to be disturbed or impressed.  McCoy, having come up beside him, glanced at him, and Kirk knew his confusion was being read by the other man.  McCoy knew his reactions well, and probably felt the same.

“The modern method of sculpting is rather quicker than it was on your home world.  I assume, like your friend here,” he indicated the Viking, “you are Terran.”

“Yes, Human.”  For some reason, Kirk didn’t want to say exactly where he was from, or that he wasn’t from the same ship as Finnegan.  He knew McCoy would take the hint.  When it came to the women, they didn’t know his full identity.  “In fact, we didn’t know each other well.”  That seemed safe to say.

“This must be shocking.”

Kirk was aware the man was examining his features, as if looking for something.  There wasn’t anything sexual in the regard; at least, he didn’t think so. 

And his curiosity was satisfied before he could inquire, when the man reached out a hand, requesting, “May I?” as he lifted Kirk’s chin, angling the face, first to one side, then the other.  “Quite amazing.  When I first spotted you, it came to me how you would make a wonderful display for your Macedonian, Alexander.  I’ve been studying your Earth history extensively, of late, as so many of your Terran vessels come into port here, and my museum is frequented by Terran officers.  It would make sense, increasing the number of Terran-based displays.”

Gently, as the other man wasn’t intending offense, Kirk backed away, taking his chin out of the other’s grasp.

“Oh, my apologies.  I was studying you as an art form.  I tend to do that, regrettably.”

It was time for a concession.  “Alexander the Great?” 

“The hair would not be quite right.  There is a likeness of him in ancient art which purports to be a genuine depiction.  Yes, a bit more curl.  Yours is shorn straight, however you do have that going on.”  He gestured, staring at Kirk’s forehead.

McCoy smirked.  “We call it tousled.  It’s a big hit with the ladies.”

“Yes, that fall of hair over your forehead, that might have given me the impression.  I assumed myself to have been mistaken, but I find,” peering closely at Kirk, “I was correct after all.  Alexander was considered a well-built man, youthful in appearance, neither too tall nor too short.  You’d be splendid.  Will you allow me to include you in the exhibit?”

There was a Finnegan over there and he was standing here.  Still, he was caught off-guard, and he finally stumbled over a “Ah, no, I really. . .”

McCoy grasped his arm.  “Well, that’ll make a great log entry,” McCoy was teasing, whispering in his ear.  “Personal log only, Captain.”

“I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t be possible.”

Shortly, the disappointed proprietor left them, and the women were continuing the prescribed route through the museum, but Kirk hung back, lingering another moment, giving another sharp scrutiny at the figure so like Finnegan, then he joined with the others, who’d paused, waiting for him.

McCoy gave him another look, but said nothing, except, “Alexander the Great?  Not bad, Jim.”

===

That night, when he returned to the ship, the first thing he did was contact the investigator in charge of the case.  Finnegan – Finnegan’s body – had gone missing the previous night, prior to the scheduled pickup by the ship’s CMO.  At this time, the body remained unaccounted for.

Kirk knew he wanted his first officer accompanying him to the museum the next day.

In the morning, he had no trouble convincing Spock of the necessity of him meeting him on the planet’s surface later.  Spock’s scientific curiosity was aroused by the notion of a wax duplicate of Finnegan, and the Vulcan went into Red Alert contemplative mode along with his captain when told of the missing body.   

But first the Vulcan had a reasonable suggestion to make.  “We could, of course, contact Finnegan’s own captain.”

“No.  We don’t know anything for a fact.  If there is a problem, I don’t want anyone else getting involved.  The less you know, the better.  So far, it’s only you and me, and I would have kept you out of it, but I know you, and you would have figured out there was something bothering me.”  He hadn’t forgotten how Spock had done some sleuthing of his own when Kodos the Executioner was aboard the Enterprise.  No, the safest Vulcan was the Vulcan at his side, not one on the ship trying to deduce what was going on.  “I haven’t even told McCoy about the body being stolen.  When we prove my supposition, that’s when we take it to the authorities.”

During lunch, Kirk begged off McCoy, who’d be on his own the rest of the day, meeting up with Loon.

Spock beamed down to Kirk’s location and the two of them paid their admission into the museum. 

This was Spock’s first visit, and he was visibly impressed by the workmanship which went into the photographically correct figures, pausing with Kirk when they reached the TERRAN display of the Viking Finnegan.

“I really need to get in there.”  Kirk was wondering how he’d go about it. 

At least Spock was here this time, his usual partner in crime.  Lisann seemed a nice young woman, he had no desire to get her into trouble.  Spock, on the other hand, actively resented it when his captain got into trouble.  And the resentment was justified.  If anything happened to Kirk, Spock would be in command of the Enterprise until a new commanding officer was assigned.  The entire process would be a disturbance to the Vulcan’s psyche.   

“I’m sure that’s Finnegan.  And there’s only one way – off the top of my head – that proves it.  I saw the photographs that hit the news and none of them showed that birthmark.  Even if it did, why would the proprietor duplicate that?”

“Getting closer may not be advisable, Captain.  It is possible security procedures are in place.”  It was difficult to detect which methods were being utilized, with the dimmer than Enterprise ‘evening’ lighting, no doubt dispensed to incite a mood among more impressionable clientele.  “I can use the tricorder.”  Of course, the mechanism would easily discern human tissue. 

“How can you use it while keeping it hidden?”

Spock had beamed down in Vulcan attire, which included a full tunic and a cloak which had concealed flaps along the inside.  The tricorder had been effectively hidden as they gained admission.  However, now he reached inside the cloak and was about to trigger the mechanism for a reading on the still figure when their attention was caught by the arrival of the proprietor.  Quickly, the tricorder fell back into place.

The proprietor was carrying something with him, a box, and was intent on Kirk, so he merely acknowledged the Vulcan’s presence with a nod.  “I’m pleased you’ve returned.”

“I wanted to bring a friend.” 

“I have this to show you.”  As the lid came off the box, Kirk was staring into his own face.  The lids were closed, but the eyes. . . there, judging by the shape of the closed lids.  However, the features were the same, including thick eyelashes and full lips, and the skin was smooth, carrying the light tan he knew was his own.  Kirk was stunned.  How quickly this had happened, and without his permission, and why had it happened at all? 

Spock stepped up to witness what had induced shock in his usually unflappable commanding officer.  “Fascinating,” he said in a whisper, as if entranced.  “Even the pigmentation is an exact duplicate.”

Kirk frowned.  It was disconcerting, for one thing, and there was still the fact it was his face, and it didn’t belong in a box or anywhere else – especially not without his permission.  And what was Spock doing staring at it, anyway?

The proprietor responded to the unasked questions.  “We take vid records of all our visitors.  After your departure yesterday, I had security bring up your vid and did a compilation of all your captured images, so a full-face replica could be formed.  You are now of permanent record.”

Spock had taken hold of the box.  “That would seem a great time saver.”

“You take photographic records for your exhibit?”  Perhaps it was customary here to appropriate someone’s likeness for use in their own purposes, but it wasn’t a custom for Kirk, especially – mainly for security reasons – Starfleet wouldn’t be partial to this custom either.  But if it was legal here to hijack someone’s face, well. . . he was subject to that.  All Starfleet officers were subject to the laws of Federation member planets unless a specific carve-out was negotiated.

“Not ordinarily.  Occasionally there has been vandalism.  But, as I told you, your face is unique for this presentation I have planned.”

Fighting the instinct to squirm, Kirk distantly tuned in as Spock bent even closer, peering with an obscene intensity into the box.

Oblivious to his captain’s discomfort, Spock remained studying the replica of Kirk’s face.  “It is a fascinating likeness.”

Kirk was disconcerted by Spock’s continued “fascination.”  His science officer wasn’t reacting too scientifically, in his opinion.  “Spock.”  He knew that prompt was sufficient.

It was.  Spock turned to the proprietor.  “I would be interested in observing the process.  If not of Jim,” abnormally casual in his attitude towards his superior officer, conveying a deliberate impression to their host, “then of the construction of any of your figures.  I would also be pleased to continue this tour, especially if there are any exhibits representing Vulcans.”

“We do have Surak.  Through my research, I determined he is the most revered of your species.”

Spock nodded.  “He is.”

“I am delighted I am not mistaken.  But of the process itself, naturally we do not want it publicized, since it is our own technique, and – as the primary artist – I can tell you I ordinarily work from images.  I would never have a live model standing before me.  However, if Jim would consent to further vids, to supply the body for our Alexander, I am certain we can come to an understanding.”

“Ah, no,” Kirk found himself repeating, from the day before.  “Despite the excellent workmanship on the. . . head. . . here, having myself as a museum piece doesn’t interest me.  In fact, I’d prefer it if you destroyed the item.”  Kirk thought he heard Spock gasp, but when he looked at him, the Vulcan seemed at ease.

“Perhaps.  It is my workmanship, and once images are caught, they cannot be uncaught.”

“In other words, you can always make another.”  Kirk found the implication he did not own his own features to be quite irritating.  Of course, he went places every day where his image was caught routinely, and it never bothered him.  There were security recordings on the ship!  But having anyone doing anything they liked with him - with his image - he was certain Starfleet wouldn’t approve and he didn’t either.  “And I’ve heard the argument, but I can’t agree.”

“A pity.”  The proprietor retrieved the box from Spock, closing the lid as if closing the door on the future.  “If there is nothing I can do to persuade you.”  The long skirt cast a draft as the lanky figure turned and departed, leaving them alone with the Viking ‘Finnegan’.

“So, we are under surveillance.”

“Practical.  There would be no need, of course, for audio monitoring.”

“I suppose not.  It’s not as if these waxworks can talk.”  Kirk was looking off to where the proprietor had gone.  The walls were dark in this place, perhaps even black, so it was possible there was a passage he couldn’t see, probably a private entrance to the operations center.

“I believe we were trying to determine if they ever did have that ability, Captain.”

Kirk stared hard at Finnegan.  At this point he knew he was acting suspiciously but he didn’t care.  All this shore leave spent in a wax museum, because of a likeness, an easily explained likeness.  But also, a missing body.  What of the missing body?

“I suggest we continue the tour, unless you have a plan.”

He had that prickly feeling he always got, when something was wrong.  “Not yet, Spock.”  He led the way, continuing the tour.  “But I seem to remember a Vulcan or two.”

“Perhaps I should have taken the risk, using the tricorder.”

“Yeah, bad timing.  Or was it?  There’s no law against using a tricorder in here, is there?”

“The legal restrictions do not interest me as much as the fact we are being monitored.  If your suspicions are correct, Captain – and I fear they may be – it is entirely possible you are under suspicion.”

“You mean he doesn’t want me for his Alexander?”

“I believe he does.  Your face was duplicated precisely, proving he is quite dedicated to having you as the model.”

“I’m flattered.”

“But that is also what concerns me.  It may be best if we do include the local authorities in our suspicions.  Also, they may have information we can use.  We do not know if Finnegan’s is the only body which has gone missing.”

“What else is bothering you, Spock?”

They were strolling from one exhibit to another while engaging in conspiracy, pausing briefly before moving on.

“It is the combination of coincidences.  You, recognizing Finnegan, and having your doubts as to what has transpired.  Did the proprietor have Finnegan murdered so he could obtain the body for his exhibit?  Or was the theft of that body pure happenstance, because it fit the proprietor’s need for a Viking form?  Or maybe it is not Finnegan’s body after all.  You, on the other hand, have behaved suspiciously regarding Finnegan, certainly earning the proprietor’s notice, but having also received the proprietor’s attention due to your physical appearance, which would conclude his search for an Alexander.”

“It does seem a lot.”  Kirk was keeping his voice low, as was Spock.  “But I still don’t feel comfortable going to the authorities, though I agree with you about needing to know if other bodies have gone missing.  But does it matter, Spock?  Say Finnegan’s is the first.  Isn’t it only important he be the last – whether he was murdered or not?  If we can determine that is Finnegan in there,” and Kirk barely restrained a reflexive gesture taking in the area they’d traversed, “then that’s all we need to confront the police with.  Then it’s up to them to further investigate, whether Finnegan was murdered or whether any of these other waxworks are so-called.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kirk could tell Spock wasn’t sanguine about his decision, but Kirk was the ultimate authority as far as his first officer was concerned, and Kirk had a proven track record. 

What he didn’t want Spock to know is how concerned he was about being wrong.  About all of it.  Maybe Finnegan just died.  And maybe that wasn’t Finnegan in that Viking garb at all.  And maybe, just maybe, Kirk was relying too much on hunches and intuition and they were proving him false now.  If that was the case, how could he be an effective commander of a starship?  How could he command any ship or any crew if he couldn’t trust his own instincts?  

As well, he was just as concerned as Spock about the proprietor’s interest in him. 

Overheard conversation and giggles announced other touring patrons would soon be upon them, and they continued, skipping two of the rooms entirely, as they each felt an instinctive need to be out in the fresh air.

Kirk blinked rapidly as they exited the building.  “It’s bright out here.  I’m sorry, Spock, I just realized we must have missed your Vulcan display.”

“Under the circumstances, Captain, it is just as well.”

The tone was peculiarly somber, but Kirk had a hard and fast rule of never intruding unless it was necessitated by ship’s business.  This was personal.  “Well, we’re outside now.  You want to go back to the ship or stay with me?”

“Since that means you are staying here, I will remain with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Trying to keep me out of trouble?”

“I do not believe that will be possible.  However, I am determined to be beside you should you acquire trouble, which I think is likely.”

“You and Bones.  He wants me off the ship as much as possible, and you want me locked in my cabin.”

“There have been occasions it would seem a healthy alternative.”

They stood out front for a bit, watching as customers paid their admissions and strolled through the entrance.  Kirk had to admit, “It was a pretty nice place.  But I can’t think what to do now.”

“We could visit the local authorities, as I’ve suggested, or we could continue your shore leave.”

“That’s an idea.  We can always meet up with McCoy.”

“In that case, I will return to the ship.”

They separated, Spock beaming back to the ship, Kirk continuing down the street, pretty sure of the location where he’d find McCoy.  But it nagged at him, the entire route, what was he to do about Finnegan.

===

That night, he knew he’d have to investigate, no matter the cost to him personally.  As anyone who knew him well realized, once he focused upon a goal, nothing would stand in his way of achieving it.  In this case, he could overlook sensors and visual monitoring equipment.  Possibly they were more active during customer hours, anyway.  All he knew was, he had to solve the mystery.

For someone with his technical knowledge, and access to a piece of nonstandard Starfleet issue equipment, breaking into the wax museum was simple.  So was the entering part.  Especially as he would have been too conspicuous, remaining outside.  Once inside the dark lobby, he wished he knew if the surveillance equipment was monitored in-person, or if recordings were reviewed only when necessary. 

Also, he wished he had Spock accompanying him, especially since the Vulcan’s superior hearing and eyesight would prove extraordinarily handy right now.  But it was one thing to violate local law, taking responsibility on himself, it would be quite a different matter resulting in Spock’s committing a legal violation, or having the Vulcan volunteer.  This could be a court martial offense.  Of course, there was the chance the Science Officer could have kept his captain from committing the trespass to begin with, but Kirk didn’t think so. 

Even when it was a non-military matter, and therefore something separated from command, his tenacity ensured he got his way.  One day, Kirk figured in his stranger reflective moments, he’d either be running Starfleet or imprisoned on a penal colony.  Or, as McCoy would say, Kirk would be running Starfleet from a penal colony.  That last possibility seemed most likely.

With the small flash affixed to his forehead illuminating the matting before him, he stepped swiftly along the corridor, passing exhibits, knowing the whereabouts of the only wax figure he was interested in.  He wasn’t anticipating interference and slowed to a casual pace as he came to the intersection containing the Viking male.

It was still here, and self-discipline barely contained his excitement.  It had been altogether possible the proprietor had removed the display since it caught so much interest.  But a tap from Kirk widened the beam to encompass the lower half of the Terran figure as he stepped gingerly into the exhibit.  Hopefully there was no pressure sensor noting his added weight on the display. 

It was the wrist band he was after, and he gingerly grabbed hold of the band, unclasping it from the solid wrist and sliding it off the arm.  He was hoping to see – what?  Did he wish for a betraying birthmark or not?

Allowing himself no time to debate the issue, he saw it.  The birthmark was there.  This was no representation, this was Finnegan.  He backed out of the exhibit, realizing there was one more piece of evidence, something irrefutable.  He pulled out the tricorder at his waist, taking the official reading.  The tricorder emitted a loud whine as it was tuned it, and before he could verify the results of the reading, Kirk felt the shock as a huge weight descended upon him.  He had time to hear the thud of the tricorder as it hit the floor, and then he was on the floor himself.

===

“Doctor McCoy, isn’t the captain with you?”

The two, Human and Vulcan, were meeting in the corridor of Deck Five, where the department heads intercepted each other in the intersection in front of the captain’s quarters.           

“I gotta tell ya, that major metropolis on that planet?  They pull up the rug early.”

Spock frowned.  There were so many versions of Earth English being spoken on this ship.  It was often confusing. 

“What about Jim?  He has ship’s business to attend to.  That’s why I’m here.”

The Vulcan’s brow canted, as always when caught by surprise.  “Interesting.”  He buzzed at the captain’s door, but there was no response.  Usually, despite occasional security breaches, when Kirk was absent from his quarters, whether on the ship or not, he’d leave the door unlocked.  When he was inside, and off-duty, then Kirk would lock the door, wishing to remain undisturbed.  Receiving no response in answer to the buzzer, Spock stepped forward to where the sensor would detect him.  The door opened immediately, and Spock strode inside, the physician falling in behind.  Within a moment, they returned to the outside corridor. 

“Well, he must be off the ship, then.  But why not tell me – or us?  I mean, there’s that girl -”

Spock turned to him.  “Doctor, I do not believe you are acquainted with all the facts.”

McCoy recognized the tone.  “No, I guess not.”  His tone revealed a rising resentment.

“I think you and I should beam to the planet, taking with us a security officer.  Not more than one, however.”  A security detail would stand out.  “If my suspicions are correct about what has transpired, the fewer people who know the better.”

“Is Jim in trouble?”

Spock did not hesitate.  “Yes.”

“That’s enough for me.  Let me get my bag.  I’ll meet you in the transporter room.”

With shore leave ongoing the transporter room was never unmanned.  When McCoy entered the transporter room, with medical bag in hand, he found Spock, transporter chief Kyle, and a security officer he didn’t recognize.  But he often didn’t recognize them.  Until they were on one of the slabs in Sickbay undergoing a physical – or something worse.  Then he got to know them - well. 

“Mister Kyle has confirmed the captain beamed down and he has not signaled.  The coordinates match the ones utilized by me and the Captain earlier today.”  It was further confirmation of the captain’s clandestine intention.

The trio stepped onto the transporters pads and Spock instructed, “Energize” and they next appeared on the planet surface. 

As the materialization completed, Spock turned to the security officer.  “We are searching for Captain Kirk.”  It was confirmation of what the officer would have guessed.

“I know him, sir.”

A brow canted.  The security officer was a relatively new posting, someone whose records hadn’t gone beyond his own desk yet, let alone had he forwarded them onto the captain for review, which was a necessity when the crewman wasn’t a temporary posting.  “That will make it easier.  The captain is unlikely to be wearing his uniform.”

Ensign Solar Harris could have told the Vulcan First Officer he would recognize James T. Kirk in any type of clothing - or none - but he knew that would be a disaster politically.  Instead, he began to search the area with his eyes, looking for the distinctive build and coloring which belonged to his youthful commander.

He'd heard stories about the possessiveness of this exec towards his commanding officer.  He’d wondered if they were true.  Then there was the medical doctor, who could be here officially or for personal reasons, though the medical bag suggested the department heads feared the worst.  Therefore, the motivations were both official and personal.  And wasn’t that the case with him as well?  If they’d requested a volunteer, he’d have been first to raise his hand.

“Sir, is there any particular threat to the captain’s safety we know about?”

“There.”  Spock gestured, carefully, in case they were being observed, though the street was relatively silent, due the establishments in this sector being closed.  “The wax museum.  The captain and I have had suspicions regarding certain activities which may be taking place, and the captain has likely continued his investigation.”

Harris wanted to follow up on that, but the Enterprise CMO beat him to it.

“Are we talking being invited in, or breaking in?”  McCoy was acerbic, as usual, especially when he felt his friend was in danger.  He was already resentful he’d been left out of it.  And Spock had more information than him?  Anyway, he could guess the rest. 

“With the captain, either scenario is possible.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

It was obvious to Harris the men were close friends, at least as far as their bond to Kirk was concerned.  It was likely Kirk was the conduit; only further observation would prove if that was the case. 

“What if he’s not in there?  Do we break in anyway?”

“I suspect that is what the captain has done.  I could attempt to take the captain’s readings from here, but we have no idea how many humanoids may be within this location.”  It was a reference to the number of Starfleet personnel availing themselves of shore leave or living in residence.  “Since the captain rarely fails to inform at least one of us his whereabouts, it is the logical assumption the captain has decided to take up a life of crime.”

McCoy shrugged.  “You have a way with words.”

Harris wondered how Kirk would take seeing him again – and so soon.

“Ensign Harris, since you are here under direct orders, you will not be held liable.”

“Yes, sir.”

===

As the Enterprise contingent were preparing to investigate the premises, in search of their missing captain, Kirk was waking up to find himself flat on his back, stiff as a board. . . or the board he was flat upon was stiff.   “What?” he found himself saying, remembering the last thing he knew was Finnegan, and then he must have been knocked unconscious.  But he couldn’t move, he was restrained, his arms and legs strapped tight.

“The restraints are temporary, Jim.”  The face of the proprietor was bending over his.  “In fact,” there was the hiss of a hypo, and Kirk felt the cold tip against his right arm, “they will be removed in a few moments, as they become unnecessary, even detrimental, to my purpose.”

Kirk was beginning to feel groggy, which he deeply resented since he’d only just woke.  But there was still something to focus on, something to grasp, and he’d never been one to panic.  “What is your purpose?”

“The perfect representation of Alexander, of course.  I haven’t given up on that, though you have chosen to be uncooperative.  But I shouldn’t complain.  You did return, because of your friend, and now you’ve made it impossible for me to let you go.”

With a shudder, Kirk was just beginning to assimilate he was nude.  “How?”  He meant, what was going to happen to him.  From his supine position, there was very little he could see, besides the ceiling, and when he turned his head there were merely the items he’d associate with a workshop.

“I have injected you with a complete muscle relaxant.  You will fall asleep shortly, and it will be peaceful; no tensing of muscles, nothing.  Your features will be relaxed, not contorted in pain or shock, or forced into a grimace or any expression of fear.  As a display, you will be standing.  And you will remain that way, your body sealed in wax, as long as I am able to care for you.”

“Why?”  His voice was tortured, and Kirk knew it would be his final word.

A pleasant smile was the final thing Kirk witnessed as his lids closed, his features going blank.  He likely resembled the face in the box.

He barely heard, “Why not?”

The straps were removed from him, with Kirk remaining still as a sacrifice of old.

When the officers arrived, the proprietor was standing poised at the lever which would be dropping an object into the surging wax below.  An alarmed First Officer quickly took in the scene in a moment, and his primary goal was in getting the madman away from the lever.  It never occurred to the Vulcan his captain could already be dead. 

As Spock grappled with the unarmed man, McCoy hurried to Kirk’s side, followed by Harris, who was keeping firm hold of his phaser, though the First Officer’s proximity to the enemy kept him from firing.  Instead, Harris assumed a guard’s stance over McCoy and Kirk, as the doctor pulled out his medical scanner, running it swiftly over the lax figure.  Harris witnessed the rise and fall of the broad chest and that was proof to him the captain would survive.  No one fatally injured could be breathing that deeply, he knew.  Automatically, his captain’s safety seeming secure, his brown eyes took in the rest of the form, and he had to bite back a smile.  The captain would kill him, he thought, if he knew the officer who’d made a pass at him was now contemplating his nude form.  Feeling someone’s eyes upon him, Harris looked up from Kirk to find the Vulcan’s stern gaze sizzling into him.  Was he encroaching on the Vulcan’s territory?  That’s what it felt like. 

Casually, Harris moved away, retrieving a cloak which was strewn over a chair, not too far from the unconscious body of the museum proprietor.  Harris returned to the doctor, lifting the cloak, and McCoy nodded approval.  The proprietor had been taller than the captain, and the ankle-length garment covered the captain neck to foot, which Harris knew to be a relief, should the captain ever learn of it.

“Let’s get him off this thing.”  McCoy was talking to either of them.  But the platform was poised above the tank of boiling wax.  “It makes me nervous.”

Instead of three men maneuvering the passive form of their captain, Spock bent forward, in a manner daring anyone to interfere, slipping his arms beneath the captain’s shoulders and knees, rising with ease as the cloak lay over Kirk, ends trailing off the sides.

“Doctor?”  Spock was requesting a diagnosis.

“I think he’s been given a simple muscle relaxant – strong, but fairly simple.  He should wake up out of it.  We should get him back to the ship, though.  Ensign, will you call and let them know it’s a medical emergency?  Have them beam down a gurney.  Spock, you should probably take care of the mess here.  Maybe the Ensign should stay with you.”

“An excellent suggestion.  Harris?”

Harris put in the call to the ship on Medical’s behalf and remained behind with the First Officer as two medics beamed down with a table and Spock placed Kirk upon it.  The familiar Sickbay blanket was laid over the patient’s body just prior to the Enterprise contingent shimmering out of existence.

“At least we recovered him, sir.”

“Yes.  Ensign, are you acquainted with the captain?”

“Briefly, sir.”  Harris knew that wasn’t telling the Vulcan anything at all.

The Vulcan proved his ability to compartmentalize as he put away any suspicions he had regarding Harris on hold, as he dealt with the local constabulary, and even notified Finnegan’s ship the status of the Lieutenant’s remains as it was carted away by the police. 

===

When Kirk woke in Sickbay, he let his pleasure at his familiar surroundings show.  “You had to come to the rescue again, huh?”

“I swear, Jim, the things you get up to.”  McCoy was standing beside the diagnostic bed, ginning, affection beaming from his bright blue eyes.  “That reminds me.  I’ve been meaning to talk to you about how often we do that.”

“Was it you and Spock?”  He knew only Spock would have figured out where he’d gone.  “Or is someone else potentially in trouble?”

“No one’s in trouble, Jim.  Not with the evidence we have, and your near demise.  A permanent museum exhibit, well, how about that.”

“Where’s Spock?”

“Still on the surface.”

“You didn’t answer my previous question.”

“There was also an Ensign something from Security.  Harris, that’s it.  Nothing seemed to faze him.”

“Harris?”  Kirk didn’t recall an Ensign Harris, but if he was a new posting. . .  Suddenly a recent incident came to mind.  Solar Harris, it must be.

“Yeah.  He was good.  He even covered you with a blanket, preserving your dignity.  It wasn’t the most important issue on my mind, but then, I’ve seen it before.  So, you have no excuse for self-consciousness, sir.  We didn’t beam you up to the ship, starkers.”

“That’s a relief.  So, where’s Harris now?”

“I don’t know.”

“When can I get out of here?”

“Right now, if you’re feeling okay.  You’re not an invalid.  I just treat you like one.”

He rose, intending to make for his quarters.  Then he paused, suddenly disoriented.

“Here.”  McCoy gestured to the other bunk.  “A uniform.”

A few breaths and the dizziness had passed.

Once in his quarters, he spoke with Spock, verifying everything – legally – was going the way he wanted.  “If you need me back down there,” he concluded their conversation, “let me know.” 

Then he requested the computer bring up personnel data on Ensign Harris.  “Suddenly this guy is all over me,” he commented, into his personal log, following a review which verified the ensign was a competent career officer, not having demonstrated superior abilities. 

Kirk’s instincts were telling him this was a man whose personality allowed him to adapt to new situations, and that was rare, the ability most looked for in his officers.  It wasn’t only about following orders; it was about displaying initiative – at the proper time. 

Some of his top officers, notably Sulu and Scott, hadn’t delivered on adaptability to begin with, but Kirk had cultivated it within them, and the time and patience had paid off.  He trusted either of them with his ship, and that was the highest accolade he bestowed upon anyone.

Having verified with the transporter room Harris’ return to the ship, Kirk went on ship-wide intercom to summon the ensign to his quarters.  When the ensign arrived, Kirk was wearing the standard gold command tunic, his rank designated only by the two solid stripes encasing the interior broken one. 

He nodded.  “Ensign Harris.”  But he remained seated at his desk, as the officer arrived.  “Sit down.”  He nodded toward the chair on the opposite side of the desk.  He smiled as the ensign obediently took the seat.  “I only wish I’d been in a position to see for myself the Enterprise brigade coming to my rescue.”  The ensign gave an obedient smile, but Kirk noted the twinkle in the dark eyes.  He was so accustomed to that expression from Spock, he knew the ensign was conveying true delight.  “I hope my actions are not taken as an example of how officers should behave.  I frown upon any of my crew committing criminal offenses.”

“I can see there were extenuating circumstances, sir.”

“And I was foolish.  I got lucky.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, sir.”

“It would require far too much explanation.”

“Is that all, sir?”

“No.”  Kirk drew the syllable out, thinking on how he’d phrase the rest of it.  “I also want to thank you for the. . . cover up you initiated on my behalf.”

“I think Dr. McCoy or Mr. Spock would have considered that, sir.”

“I would hope so, too.”

“It’s not as if you have anything to be ashamed of, sir.”

“Harris.”

“It was my pleasure, sir.”

“Have you ever considered a career outside of Starfleet?”  Before the ensign could become alarmed, he explained, “You have a certain way of phrasing that puts me in mind of several bureaucrats I’ve known.”

“Sorry about that, sir.”

Kirk nodded.  “Dismissed.”

“Oh, sir.”  Ensign Harris paused at the door and waited until his captain was looking at him.  “Mr. Spock would have made sure you were decently covered.”

Kirk didn’t know what to say.  But the ensign was waiting.  “Mr. Spock is very efficient.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

Upon the confirming nod, Harris turned on his heel and left.

What had Harris meant by that?

However, a few days later Kirk had forgotten the entire incident, aided by his total lack of contact with the ensign since the interview in his quarters.  But, coming off shift one day, he was checking through the administrative directory on his computer, only to find his exec was initiating the transfer of Security-assigned Ensign Solar Harris.  Since Spock rarely initiated transfers, far less than he did, Kirk didn’t sign off on it immediately, but read through it, not finding any plausible explanation – no incident – to account for his first officer’s wanting the crewman off the ship.  Spock’s carefully worded explanation was highly laudatory, in fact, suggesting the career trajectory of the ensign would be best served elsewhere. 

Strange, and not at all the way Kirk conducted business.  If a crewman was judged deficient, in ability or attitude, and no favorable adjustment was anticipated, then he’d get the crewman off the ship as soon as possible, but hardly accompanied with a favorable assessment.  Spock’s review made it appear the crewman was above average, which could be true.  But, if that was the case, Kirk wanted to keep Harris in his crew, not surrender the ensign to some other ship. 

There was something going on here.  He didn’t know where his Vulcan was right this minute, and it wasn’t worth paging throughout the ship.  He transmitted the request to Spock, a conference on the subject.  If nothing else, the first officer was alerted, that an explanation was required.

Spock appeared at his door in moments.  “Come.”  Kirk granted access, assuming Spock to have been in his own cabin, to have responded so quickly.  Knowing better than to suggest the Vulcan take a seat, Kirk had grown accustomed a long time ago to gazing up at his exec as the first officer remained standing, at ease, but formal.  Swiveling in the chair in order to face him, Kirk didn’t waste time.  “About this transfer request for Harris.  What’s behind it?”

“Is the assessment not sufficient?  I believe the Ensign’s career would be best served in another posting.”

“I’d like to believe you, Spock, but there’s no better posting than the Enterprise.  Granted, Security personnel don’t advance as quickly as Command track, but that’s a given anywhere.”  As Spock had nothing to offer to that, Kirk tried another tack.  He’d get there, he always did.  “Do you have a personal dislike or distrust of the officer?  I know he assisted you and McCoy in the rescue.”

“There is no personal animosity between me and the Ensign.”

“But everyone is capable of being irritated, and I’ve been around enough Vulcans to take that as a fact.”  He settled even more comfortably in his chair, giving the deliberate impression that if there was any giving to be done here, it wasn’t going to be by him, and Spock would know that.

“I assessed the recent situation and came to the conclusion the Ensign’s presence was – perhaps – an embarrassing reminder of all that has occurred.”

Well, that was awkward, Kirk thought.  Or McCoy would say it was pulling teeth.  “How so?”

“It is true you have been in unsavory situations before, but never have you appeared as vulnerable as on this occasion.”

“The emperor has no clothes, Mr. Spock.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, I have to admit, I was a little uncomfortable to begin with, but I’m fine about that now.  It’s not as if my body was on ship-wide access.”

“No, sir.  Still?”

“Is there more?”

“No, sir.  I do believe that is enough.   However, -”

“Out with it, Spock.”

“There was the inference from the Ensign, while on the planet, that he was already acquainted with you, and desiring to be more so.”

“Ah.  Well, we’d briefly met.  In the gym.  That was kind of embarrassing, too.  He made a pass at me.  He didn’t realize who I was.”

“Then I feel even more strongly we should have the Ensign off the ship.”  As Kirk opened his mouth to argue, Spock pressed, “If it had been a female officer, you would have initiated transfer orders yourself.”

“You’ve got me there.”  Attractive female crew were his vulnerability, so much so at times he was curt with them.  It would take one slip and the rumors would be flying amongst the crew.  Therefore, he kept them all at a firm distance.  “You’re saying I shouldn’t make an exception.”

“When it comes to crew, you’ve always made it a rule there are no exceptions.”

Except, of course, when there were.  Kirk sighed and came to his decision.  “All right, Mr. Spock.  I’ll approve the transfer, but I want it understood I want Ensign Harris moving into a lateral posting, or an upgrade.  There’s to be no punishment or suggestion of it.”

“Agreed, sir.”

Though the First Officer remained expressionless, Kirk could feel his relief, like it was a tangible substance.  “That’s all, then.”

He remembered when he lost Rand due to their mutual attraction, and her decision to transfer off the ship.  He’d gone through a stream of yeomen since, none of them as efficient, or as caring, as Janice had been.  Perhaps it was because of her personal interest in him, which had caused her to excel in the often-thankless position of being his personal assistant.  And maybe Harris would have been the best security officer ever, for the same reason.  This was something of a no-win situation.  No wonder he felt aggrieved. 

Thinking he’d better talk it out with his first officer a bit more, Kirk left his quarters for Spock’s, assuming the Vulcan to have returned there.  Instead, Kirk entered the cabin, and almost instantly felt the higher heat but also realized the silence.   About to turn away, Kirk spied something out-of-place and yet vaguely familiar.  Hesitant to crash his first officer’s privacy, it came to him, just before he was about to ignore the whatever-it-was, exactly what it was.  That box, the one the proprietor had held out to him, which Spock had claimed before handing it back, and hadn’t there been reluctance there?  That box which contained his face, done in wax, but a perfect replica, as Spock noted.  Shocked into motion, Kirk moved to verify his suspicion.

He was staring – again – into his own features, the box in his hands, when the door slid open behind him.  With calm, Kirk replaced the box atop the table, and turned to subject his first officer to a long look.

The explanation flowed swiftly.  “Captain, I retrieved it from the museum.  It seemed safer here.”

“It’s safer, destroyed.”

“It is a work of art, Jim.”

“It’s my face, Spock.”  And then it occurred to him.

Spock waited a long moment, perhaps giving his superior officer time to comprehend.  “Precisely.”

There was his face, in a box, in Spock’s possession.  There was Spock’s initiated transfer of Harris.  There was Spock, standing there, stating his face was a work of art.  “I’m gaining a certain impression here, and I’d like you to confirm or deny.”

Spock nodded, standing almost at attention, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I suppose you haven’t fixated upon Alexander the Great for some reason?”  An already ascending brow canted, all the response he deserved.  “Do you want Ensign Harris off the ship because you’re uncomfortable with him having an attraction to me?”

“No, sir.”

“No?”  Then the conclusion he’d jumped to was wrong, and he’d taken a leap into the shallow end of the pool.

“I realize you have no personal interest in the Ensign and will never do so.”

“Then I apologize, Mr. Spock.  I was assuming you had a personal interest in me.”  He fumbled for the proper expression.  “A romantic one,” he settled on.  “I was wrong.”

“No, sir.  I do have a personal interest in you, as a prospective romantic partner.  I am not inclined to allow Harris to remain on this ship, because your previous relationships have never involved crewmen.”

“Yes?”  Kirk was trying to figure out where that left him.  ‘Previous relationships?’ he was thinking.

“Except for medical personnel, I would venture no one assigned to this ship has seen its captain nude.”

It was a measure of how dazed he was, he took a moment to flow through the list of possibilities, and Spock was correct: there wasn’t anyone on the ship who knew for sure what he looked like; it was all conjecture.  It never suited his personal sense of decorum, to be completely bare assed at any time in front of the crew, though some commanding officers were more casual, in the gym or at the pool.  He remembered Captain Garrovick, after a workout, wandering through the changing room without a stitch on.  It must have stuck in his mind, that he didn’t like it, and that’s what was influencing his own behavior, now he had his own ship.  “Yes.”  Spock, he noted, had waited for him to wade through this.

“I would like to maintain the standard you have set.”

“All right, Mr. Spock.”  If that was the excuse the Vulcan was cloaking himself with, well, Kirk could accept that.  It made life easier, after all.  It seemed he had more than enough to think about, and if Spock was still going through the possibilities, well. . . They had plenty of time.  It wasn’t as if either of them was going anywhere.  “That was the reason I came looking for you, as I wasn’t satisfied with your earlier explanation.”

“That is reasonable.”

“I’ll approve the transfer, as I told you earlier.”

“That would be best.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Spock.”

“Goodnight, Captain.”

The Vulcan stepped aside, allowing his commandeering officer to pass.  For just a moment, though, the long-fingered hand lifted sufficiently to suggest – what?  That his captain remain?  Or did the Vulcan wish to touch him so badly, even casual contact would prove sufficient?  Regardless, the hand fell back again, to rejoin the other clasped behind the firm back, and Kirk continued past, though he’d faltered for that moment.    

Back in his quarters, Kirk found a message from McCoy, and he placed a call to the doctor’s quarters.  Bones, he could see when the visual came on, was in civilian attire.  “I see you’re heading off the ship?”

“You got that right,” was the short and unnecessary response.  “Now you’ve recovered and all, want to hit the bright lights again?”

Feeling out-of-synch for some reason, perhaps it was his friend’s attire in contrast to his own, Kirk pointed out, “It’s kind of late, isn’t it?”

“But it’s back to being a thirty-six-hour town!  Something to do with the rotation or they take turns with the other part of the planet.  I don’t know, ask Spock, that’s his department.  I can always call the girls, see if they’re available.”

“So, you haven’t got a date yet?”  Kirk’s mind raced.  “Tell you what.  If you skip the girls and wait about ten minutes, I’ll join you.”  He would quickly jettison his uniform for some civilian garb, like that denim he wore the other day.  Once he got used to it, he liked the feel.

With a parting grin, McCoy signed off.

While getting ready, Kirk knew he was a lot of things, but never a procrastinator.   So, he thought long and hard about the problem, the new problem.  Any ordinary man, Kirk could rebuff and feel no guilt over it.  But this was Spock, a Vulcan, his science officer and exec, someone he’d known and respected for years – and no man at all, as Spock would be the first to remind him.  It wouldn’t be fair to Spock to consider him in human terms, when he wasn’t human, or wholly human.  Which meant he had to think on a different level.

He didn’t have any prejudice against same sex relations, even when the sexes were of different species, and even that didn’t quite matter, as Spock was humanoid in appearance, and was – in fact – partially human.

And it wasn’t as if he’d never had a sexual relationship with a man.  Finnegan had been wrong about that.  There’d been a couple of attempts at male intimacy over the years, men who were proven and trusted as friends first.  The Vulcan physique wasn’t very different from the average human; some would find it superior or striking.  But the men he’d been with had been like him; standard humans, with basic good looks, as well as being fellow officers.

What did Spock really want from him?  He hadn’t stated, hadn’t really declared himself in any way.  Had Spock figured it out yet?  Were the calculations complete?  And did Kirk want to be with someone who’d consider a relationship with him in a purely calculated manner?  A friend who displayed the mental agility of a computer, was a much different matter, from the prospect of a lover with the same attitude towards life.    

In the romance department, Kirk thought himself anything but prosaic though stopping short of poetic, with low lit dinners and flowers on the table and dancing.  He would rate himself average in the human male pattern of courting.

If Spock wanted his companionship, sexually, in addition to what they already had, would it be something he could give him?  Technically, as captain, he shouldn’t have a physical involvement with any of his subordinates, including senior officers, and he’d always strictly adhered to the regulation he completely supported.  Though some commanders may have slipped in this area – some going up on charges, some not – it had always been a point of honor, that his self-control was sufficient at self-containment.  He could always sever that instinctive urge to mate, to love.

Of course, he did love.  He loved McCoy.  He loved Spock.  Each in different ways, according to what each brought to the relationship.  Spock represented the intellectual, controlled side of himself, the one who calculated the odds.  While McCoy was the borderline irrational, but the side of himself which tied into his instincts and intuition.  He’d hate to consider life without them, but he did, every day, as every day on a starship could bring with it a new challenge, a new risk, a new foe.  The three of them had been lucky they’d made it this far.

If McCoy came to him, declaring romantic love, would he accept the offer?  But they were both such ladies’ men it was hard to visualize a scene like that taking place.  Of course, lately McCoy had been making remarks about his looks, but was that meant to prod him into something?  It was neither here nor there, as a scene like that had never taken place between them.  But he couldn’t help thinking he’d reflexively pull back from McCoy, if only because he valued him as a friend, and occasionally as some older and wiser man than he.

He and Spock had taken a long time to grow accustomed to each other, as friends as well as fellow officers.  Though the Vulcan had never voiced skepticism of his new captain’s abilities, in the beginning he had been disapproving of Kirk’s personal style, which was so unlike the aloof, military-posture of Chris Pike. 

More than a decade of service to one commander and Spock had been in a rut, then ripped out of it with the arrival of the younger, more casual James T. Kirk.   Kirk knew when he arrived it was a case of “I came, I saw, and I conquered” which earned him the reputation of having a style both casual and arrogant.  He had a smile at the ready for all those who earned it, making it clear respect between him and his fellow officers would be a two-way street.

And Gary Mitchell.  Long-time friend already assigned to the Enterprise under Pike, therefore associated with Spock as well.  Mitchell’s style was even looser than Kirk’s, but it was Kirk who was the captain and set the ship’s tone.  Together, Kirk and Mitchell made quite a team, no doubt an enlightening experience for the somewhat sheltered Vulcan.  But instead of resigning, which Kirk anticipated the Vulcan to do, Spock remained, up through the time of Gary’s death and ever since, and Kirk had never seriously questioned why.  Oh, he realized that Spock had loyalty to him, even fondness for him.  But he couldn’t know if it was greater than what Spock felt towards Pike.  But he’d take what he could get, as he was gratified the extraordinary officer was his to command, and therefore that daunting intellect was at his disposal.

When had his friend decided he wanted him?  That he’d be suitable, for bonding and all?  Was there one flash of a moment, or was it a gradual awakening within him?  Then again, bonding hadn’t been mentioned.

For Kirk, there was a warmth within him, whenever he thought of his friend.  But was it the warmth of desire?  It had never been, and Kirk didn’t think it was now.  That wasn’t something that could be programmed, not unless you were an android. 

Kirk mentally shrugged. 

Perhaps he needed to open himself to the possibility, spending more time with Spock.  He could always feel the Vulcan out, inviting him more often to a game of chess in the rec room.  But it would mean spending less time with McCoy.

He got on the comm.  “Bridge.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I’m beaming down with Dr. McCoy.”

“Yes, sir.”

His communicator made a tight fit in his pocket, and since it was evening, he had a light jacket which he slung over one shoulder.

“I almost expected you in a short skirt.”  McCoy smirked.  As Kirk frowned, he explained, “The Alexander connection.”

“Oh,” was all he could say to the tease.  He wondered how long he’d have to live with the ‘Alexander’ business.  “Energize,” he ordered as he and McCoy settled onto the pads.

Once they’d materialized on the planet surface, McCoy said, “Where do you want to go?”

“Nowhere we’ve been before.  I’ve had it with this neighborhood.”

“Sorry.  I should have gotten alternate coordinates.”

“We’re okay.  I’ve just got some bad memories.”

They headed off in a fresh direction, finally spotting a pleasant area for a couple of hours of easy diversion.  When they settled at a table, drinks before them, Kirk sat so his back was to the dominant portion of the establishment.  There was something pleasant about putting his heavier thoughts on hold as he traded pleasantries with his friend. His nice, uncomplicated, friend.

Kirk was laughing even as McCoy complained, “You’d think we’d run out of things to talk about.”

“We can always fall back on ship’s business.”

“Not when I’m on leave, please.”

“So why don’t we run out of conversation?”

“Because we are friends first.  So, tell me, friend, are you finally enjoying your leave?”

“I hope to be enjoying myself.  I am right now.  I thought you were having a great time with Loon.”

“I’ve been having fun.  But I don’t feel that tremendous urge you do, to save the universe.  I know, I know, it’s part of the job description.  But if I can save just one of my patients at a time, I’m happy.  Right now, I’m happy as a clam.”

“What?”  Kirk shook his head.  “So, it’s a matter of degree.  I didn’t save anyone here.  You focus on an individual and I take care of the billions.”

“As long as you come back in one piece, that makes my day.  On the other hand, I don’t know what I’d be doing if I wasn’t worrying about you.”

“There may come a time you can’t handle what comes, and I don’t want you feeling guilty about it.  We take chances, Bones.  I have to take chances.  That’s the job.”

The doctor wasn’t buying it.  “And you love it.  You could delegate more.”

“A good commander doesn’t say, ‘Go and do this,’ while pointing the way.  A good commander says, ‘Follow me.’”  

“I know.  But I don’t have to like it, do I?”  McCoy took a fortifying sip of the warm liquid which the wait staff kept refilling into his cup.  What was it, anyway?  “And this time, Jim, you know how close it was?  Closer than in a long while, my friend.  We nearly lost you, and it had nothing to do with Starfleet, ship’s business, or your own crew.  That’s what really pisses me off.”

“I did what I had to, Bones.  I would have thought you’d get used to it, better than Spock, and yet he handles my illogical risk-taking better than you.”

“He gets to play captain.”

“That’s not fair, Bones.  That’s not his ambition.”

“It may not be his ambition, but it’s a fact.   Chief Science Officer was how he started out.  He’s not Sulu or Chekov, on the Command track.  Oh, he may not be a captain for long, if Starfleet decides to give the ship to someone else, but he would still be Acting Captain for as long as it takes them to assign someone to your chair.  And that can’t hurt his career.  But I know I wouldn’t want to serve under him.  I couldn’t take the aggravation and he’d get damn sick of me.”

“Second-in-commands are the most dispensable of all the higher ranks, you know that.  It’s Spock’s science expertise that makes him valuable, and the status I’ve given him is an acknowledgement of his experience and loyalty.  Of course, I could make Sulu my exec, but I prefer him where he is, though Sulu’s chances for a captaincy would increase by being the ship’s exec, but that’s my decision.  Between the two of them, Spock and Sulu, I work best with Spock as my right-hand.  Sulu doesn’t have that analytical brain Spock does.  Every way I look at it, Spock is always my best choice for exec.”

“Well, Spock’s the perfect shadow, all right.  Of course, his loyalty was to Pike, as well as you, and for a while there,” McCoy was reminding him, “it looked as if you were the runner-up.”

“I understand Spock’s motivations, all right, and why he was compelled to do what he did.  Though I don’t approve of them, at the same time I wonder if our positions had been reversed, if I wouldn’t have done the same.”

McCoy’s declaration was swift.  “I don’t think so.”

“How do you mean?”

The physician shrugged.  “Our Vulcan works on logic.  He didn’t involve anyone in his decision to abduct Chris Pike and take him to Talos IV, because having any contact with that planet is not only illegal, but Starfleet’s only offense which mandates execution as punishment.  In his practical, logical and efficient, approach, Spock decides he won’t tell anyone what he’s doing.  He’ll commit mutiny, hijack a starship, put his commanding officer’s career in jeopardy, and why?  You know what you would have done?  You’d have gone to Starfleet command, to the very top, and raised a ruckus.  You would have said, ‘Guess what?  I think Fleet Captain Pike would have the chance for a better life, if you ask him if he wants to be dropped at Talos IV.’  It would have been that simple, Jim, and logical.  There was nothing wrong with Pike’s mind.  No one would have prevented you from asking Chris Pike what he wanted.  If Starfleet said NO, that would have been it.  If Chris Pike said NO, that would have been it.  But if Chris said YES, one hundred percent Starfleet would have let you take a shuttle and deliver him or take the Enterprise and give him a complete officer salute send-off before beaming him down.  Why couldn’t that approach have worked with Spock?  Why didn’t that approach even occur to him?  It was his logic that was at fault there.  He swooped in like a hero but also a betraying angel.  And none of that need to have happened.”  McCoy sighed.  His tirade had been overwhelming but he’d kept it bottled-up for a long time.  “Even if Starfleet would have been against the idea, you’d have charmed them into it.”

“What if Chris said NO?  Do you remember, how Chris kept blinking NO?”

“But he blinked YES when someone – YOU – asked him the question.  It’s possible his blinking NO was in rejection of Spock’s mutiny, that’s what he was against.”

“Well, Spock hasn’t had to do any of that shit on my behalf.  I hope it never comes to something that drastic.”

“If he did any of that for Pike, I wonder if he has any limits when it comes to you.”

“I thought you were questioning his loyalty to me.”

“That too.  But his logic goes out the window when it comes to the well-being of his captains, that’s for certain.  As a physician, I can thank him for what he did for Pike.  As a Starfleet officer, I have my doubts.  I guess I’m worried at the intensity he sometimes displays, when he’s dedicated to a certain objective.  It borders on irrationality.  I call you out whenever you’re about to go there, but you’re human and it’s expected.  Nobody is looking for that from a Vulcan Science Officer.”

A member of the wait staff drifted by again and the mysterious liquid was added to refill both their glasses.  Kirk’s mouth twisted as he conveyed his confusion to McCoy who was merely shaking his head.  “Enjoy it.  Whatever it is.  We’re on leave.”

Kirk stopped biting his lower lip.  McCoy’s assessment really bothered him, because he hadn’t been inaccurate.  “I’ve never heard you talk this way before.”

“I usually keep my concerns to myself.”

Kirk’s eyebrows shot up.

McCoy caught the motion.  “Yeah, right.  It’s not as if I don’t have confidence in Spock.  With you being his number one priority, oh, I get that.  It’s just I have more confidence in you.”

Kirk gave a gentle smile of understanding.  “Your concern is noted and appreciated, as captain, and as a friend.  However, I’ve explained my reasoning over Spock’s rank.  I admit another officer may have a less challenging personality, but the rewards would be less rich as a result.”

“Captain Kirk?”

Kirk glanced up at the man standing at their table.  He recognized one of the local investigators on the Finnegan case.  He gestured to a seat, but the man shook his head.

“Your Starfleet investigation of your friend’s death was most fortuitous, Captain, increasing the security of the citizenry immeasurably.”  A bow.  “We thank you.”

‘Starfleet investigation?’  That was likely Spock’s idea, maneuvering Kirk clear of any personal criminal charges he could be up against.  “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”  As the resident moved off, Kirk traded a glance with his friend.  “I thought we’d be safe here.”

“Cops move around, just as much as anybody.  But we haven’t run into any of the Enterprise crew.”

There must have been something odd about the cop’s bowing to him, as Kirk intercepted a few glances directed his way.

“Look.”  McCoy gestured to the media screen over the bar.

Kirk could just make out the wax museum owner’s visage and a few other details.  It was possible, because of the acknowledgment the local cop had just made to him, the captain of the Enterprise was getting a solid mention on the day’s news.

McCoy must have had the same idea, for he gave his commanding officer a huge grin.

Publicity, just what he was never in the mood for.  Kirk wished he was back on the ship.  A nice, uncomplicated game of chess, perhaps.  So much for his hopes of a prolonged – in anonymity – shore leave.

In short time, they drained their glasses and maneuvered out of the booth.  Once curb-side McCoy was saying, “Don’t tell me, you’re headed back to the ship.”

KIrk shrugged.  “May as well.”  As he pulled out his communicator, McCoy was indicating his intention to stay.  “Kirk, ready to beam up.”

The acknowledgment came, and Kirk was back on ship in a moment, his friend’s pleasant wave of farewell echoing in his mind.

Sometimes Kirk wondered if he wasn’t too difficult for anyone to be friends with.

The poor transporter chief must be wondering if it had become his exclusive duty to be beaming his captain to and from.  All these comings and goings had to be logged, and the captain of the ship wasn’t presenting a too-decisive front at present. 

Now, if Scotty was aboard ship, he was always good for a few laughs.  “Is Mr. Scott on board?”

“No, sir.”

===

In his quarters, he officially notified the bridge as to his whereabouts, and he thought about calling Spock out for a game of chess, or even some conversation, but he wasn’t quite ready for that yet.  Coward, Kirk, you’re a coward, he told himself, but he knew that wasn’t it.  He wasn’t a man to avoid confrontation but would instead seek it out – on his terms.  Somehow, he knew, as always, he had the upper hand with Spock, so he wasn’t insecure about his ability to command, but very unsure what exactly it was he wanted to command, where the Vulcan was concerned.

It was one thing to contemplate your best friend being in love with you, or at least in lust.  It was quite another thing wondering if you felt the same way – whichever way it turned out to be.  However, if it was either of those, wouldn’t he have known – or felt – it by now? 

Now he thought about it, it seemed reasonable the Vulcan’s love of him, if only because of his exec’s care and respect toward him, which seemed a bit more than the usual officer-to-officer relationship.  But maybe Spock didn’t want it going any further than that, either.  Kirk didn’t have any proof Spock wanted a sexual relationship.  It could be he didn’t.   This could cause quite a bit of problems if Kirk was proceeding to make decisions under false impressions of what Spock was asking of him.

The more Kirk pondered it, the more he realized he needed more evidence of what Spock was wanting from him, like a computer needs to be fed more data before it issues a conclusion.

Data?  God forgive him, he was becoming more like Spock every day.

The buzzer sounded, and he released the lock on the door while calling, “Come.”  He should have asked who it was first, especially since he wasn’t on duty, but he couldn’t be bothered.  Maybe he assumed it to be Spock or his yeoman.  It surprised him when Ensign Harris walked in, pausing on the inside of the door, but far enough in, the door closed after him.  “Ensign Harris.  We do seem to be seeing quite a lot of each other.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kirk couldn’t read the ensign’s expression thru the stone-set features.  “I can see you have something on your mind, Ensign.”  With a glance, Kirk indicated the chair across from his desk.  He dropped into his own chair, wondering if he should have stayed on the planet, considering he was being consumed by ship’s business now he was back on-board.  Obviously, word traveled fast.  He hadn’t even changed out of his civvies yet, but only dropped the jacket onto the bed. 

Since the captain had taken a seat, Harris sat across.  It was generally considered disrespectful, if a subordinate officer insisted on standing while his commanding officer was seated and issuing an invitation for the subordinate to do likewise.  “I’ve heard I’m to be transferred, Captain.”

Somehow Kirk wasn’t surprised.  For one thing, it seemed Harris hadn’t taken any shore leave.  For another, the transfer had probably been in the air almost immediately, even though Spock was the most close-mouthed man he knew, other than himself.  “The request for re-assignment has come across my desk.  There is nothing negative attached to your record, Ensign.  You can be sure of that.  But it might be more advantageous for your career, if you were reassigned.”

“The Enterprise is the best ship in the fleet, sir.”

Kirk tried a smile.  “I can’t argue with you there.” But he offered no other explanation.

There was a moment of bated breath on both sides.  Harris broke it.  “It’s because of what happened between us, isn’t it, sir?”

“Nothing happened between us, Ensign,” Kirk pointed out.  He didn’t quite fall into command mode, maybe because of the amount of drink he’d had on the planet.  But the hardened tone he used when he was displeased or officious was absent.

Harris blocked his momentary confusion.  “I know that.  Sir.  But maybe someone thought we were. . .”  He thought better of the statement he was about to make.  “If it’s that, which you’re embarrassed about, or you’re afraid I’ll embarrass you, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, sir.”

Now there was no difficulty in managing Kirk’s tone.  It was sarcastic, pure and simple.  “I’m heartened by your attempt to shield me.”  The transfer was being initiated by the ship’s exec, which Kirk somehow didn’t want Harris learning of, but he did bear direct responsibility anyway, seeing the transfer would go through on his say-so.  “But I believe the legal situation on the planet has been handled through the first officer’s foresight and, as far as any personal awkwardness between us, you’ve already assured me I have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“That’s true, sir, which is why I don’t understand. . . I’ve been looking forward to this posting.  I’ve been on the wait-list for years.”

Now Kirk was frowning.  If true the ensign had angled for a position aboard his ship, how likely was it the interlude between them – the one in the gym, when Harris had behaved as a naïve junior officer – was genuine?

As Kirk hadn’t dropped his gaze, it was as if the ensign could read his commander’s expression and therefore read his mind.  Harris’ features hardened, the eyes and forehead as if in bullish intensity.  “No, Captain,” the tone, too, had roughened, almost as effectively as Kirk’s own.  “I worked hard to get here, to serve under your command.  And you take one look at me, and you and your pet Vulcan decide I’m not good enough?  I don’t think so.  I could be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Kirk reached for the comm system, hoping to activate the alert.  Unfortunately, his hand was forestalled in a firm grip.  “You forget, Captain, I am Security.  And I’m the duty officer working a skeleton crew.  It’s shore leave, remember?”

Kirk was shoved away from the desk, his back hitting into the shelf behind, causing a moment of sharp pain, followed by a tingling sensation as his legs gave out from under him.  He wondered if his spine had been cracked.  But his arms were still effective, and he struggled against the ensign’s pulling at him, to force him up and over, it seemed.  And he did fall, or was made to turn, sufficiently so a kick impacted sharply into his back, at the same lower lumbar region that had already suffered injury.  The pain was excruciating, but at least through the pain, Kirk knew his spine was damaged but not splintered. 

But he was made nearly incapacitated, and Kirk screamed with the pain, then hollered, as he was being dragged from behind the desk, across the floor.  His legs were numb, nearly immobile, and he would have fought with his arms, but they were encased in the ensign’s fists, as Harris continued to drag him, and Kirk knew it was towards the alcove, towards his bed.  He tried to move forward, so his teeth could manage a sound grip in the other man’s leg, but his attempt was halted when he discerned the slight air brush sound of the door, and he realized they’d been interrupted.

Kirk was dropped by Harris, no longer propelled, but forgotten, as the ensign was facing an assault by the first officer.  Kirk couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy to be interrupted by ship’s business before, as he carefully shifted himself on the floor, so he was lounging against the side of the desk, facing the door into his cabin.

He knew Spock would win the fight, but he didn’t need to see it happen.  He closed his eyes against the melee, hoping no one would fall against him.  But he felt he’d only get in the way if he tried to make it to the bed on his own.

After a moment, there was a millisecond of silence, and Kirk opened his eyes to see Spock settling in front of him.  Kirk greeted the victor with a small smile.  “I knew you’d win.”

“I had to.”  The declaration was as simple as it was elegant.

Kirk glanced toward the fallen figure in red.  It was too bad, for Harris would have been a good security officer.  “Is he still alive?”

“Yes.  Though he will require medical assistance.”

“So will I.  Thank you, Spock.  Coming to the rescue, again.  You’d better call McCoy.  He’s on the surface.  I am so never going to hear the end of this.”

Before he rose to do his captain’s bidding, Spock had to ask, “Your injuries, Captain?”

“Spine.  I’m not sure.  I don’t think it’s broken.  It wouldn’t hurt, if it was broken, right?”

“That is debatable, Jim.”

“Better get McCoy quick, then.”  This time the order was firm.

The medical aides were gentle with Kirk, as well as Ensign Harris, as both patients were loaded onto stretchers.  Spock kept pace beside Kirk’s. 

“You should have nerve pinched him,” Kirk reprimanded his first officer.

“I did not want to.”

“I understand.”  He wanted to grasp Spock’s hand as it was lying against the Vulcan’s side, but he didn’t.  He satisfied himself with, “Thank you.”

He could see the great love that was there for him in the dark, steady gaze and a moment later there was the surreptitious glide of a hand against his own and the brush of fingertips.  Kirk acknowledged the motion with a blink.

Then they were in Sickbay and McCoy joined them as well as Nurse Chapel who had been called back from shore leave, and she was looking as upset as the CMO, and everyone knew it wasn’t because shore leave was canceled early for Medical’s top staff.  

When Kirk first knew her, she was term personnel, working while on passage to – hopefully – being reunited with her fiancé.  Back then he called her Christine.  But when she became permanent, she became Nurse Chapel.  He liked her.  He even felt sympathy for her, with the tragic loss of her dreams along with her fiancé.  It was yet another tale of love and sad endings.  He’d been there often enough; he could totally relate to her on that level.  And then she developed an infatuation with the ship’s resident Vulcan, and he found that tragic, because she went from hopeless cause to hopeless cause, and he lost personal respect for her.  Her devotion to Spock would never be returned and she had to have known it.  And now he knew the reason why the Vulcan had always been closed to her.  Before this, he assumed she wasn’t Spock’s type.  But who was?  Well, now he knew.  If she ever learned the identity of who held Spock’s heart, would she resent him?  As the pain medication McCoy injected him with began to take effect, and his eyelids to close, Kirk thought he’d had enough of people resenting him for things outside of his control.

“Good.  The medication’s working.  That back of his must hurt like hell.”  As one, three pairs of eyes were raised to the diagnostic readings.  With a glance at the Vulcan standing so silent a vigil, McCoy commented, “Good thing you came along, Spock.  With that injury of Jim’s, it could have gotten ugly.  Christine.”  He prompted the Nurse to join him in shifting Kirk’s body onto his front.   “Now he’s out of it he won’t feel this so acutely.”

“I sensed alarm.”

“What?”

“The captain would say it was intuition.  I sensed alarm.  Perhaps it was my proximity to him.  I was en route to his quarters.  It caused me to increase my pace.”

“Or maybe those Vulcan ears of yours caught something.”

“That could not be the explanation, Doctor, as you know the personal quarters are sound-proofed.”

“Well, you’ll have to get detailed for the report.  I don’t know what kind of paperwork is involved for something like this.”

“This is a court-martial offense.  The ensign was perpetrating an assault upon the captain.”

McCoy was bent over Kirk.  He knew his and Chapel’s backs blocked most of the first officer’s view.   In this strange way, he felt this posture granted his patient, as well as the Vulcan, more privacy.  “I wish I knew what was going on in this ship.”

“The ensign was newly assigned.  It is possible his proclivities were kept hidden.”

“For violence or for Jim, here?  Maybe violent tendencies weren’t exhibited beforehand.  I’ll have to review the psych profile.  I’ll have to do that for my medical report, anyway.  Listen, Spock, Jim’s going to be out for a while, and I have work to do repairing him.  I’ll update you when the surgery’s done.”

“And the captain’s condition?”

The two department heads were of equal rank, but Spock had the edge, being second-in-command.  McCoy had tried dismissing him, but the exec hadn’t budged.  “He’ll recover.  The spine was chipped in several places, but the individual damage was miniscule.  He’s going to be bored in here, soon enough, but we’ll have to keep him awhile.  I don’t want him wrecking my repair job.”

“With that positive diagnosis, I will return to the bridge.  There is a notification to be sent to Starfleet and I’ll be compiling my report.  I expect to be notified when the captain has regained consciousness and when your report is complete.”

“So what else is new?  Sorry, I’m on edge.  Gotcha.”  As the Vulcan turned away, he stopped him.  “Hey, Spock.”  As the first officer faced him again.  “You know, you and me, no matter our personal differences, we have to take care of him.”

“Understood, Doctor.”  Then Spock was gone. 

As Chapel looked at her supervisor in inquiry, McCoy ignored her.  “Now, Jim, I know you’re not completely unconscious, just too relaxed to be feeling any pain, but I want you to know, I’m not worried.”  Looking for it, McCoy studied the profile of his patient and thought he detected a slight curve to the corner of the mouth, but he also knew it could be his imagination.  “You’ll be completely under soon.  Then I’ll get to work.”

Well, he wouldn’t be against anyone who managed to keep Jim Kirk’s feet on the ground, not even if it was a green-blooded, pointy-eared you-know-what.

===

On the first of Spock’s returns to Sickbay to visit with his commanding officer, Kirk was lying in bed, restraints limiting movement.  Kirk demanded ship’s status, and – when Chapel departed and they were left alone – Kirk stated softly, as the Vulcan bent to hear his words, “I do not want you and McCoy cosseting me, do you understand?”  Spock nodded, instantly recognizing the reference.  “And something else.  I wanted you to hold my hand when they were bringing me in here.  Isn’t that strange?”

Before Spock could respond, they were interrupted.

The next day.  “You spoil me, Spock.”

The day after that, with crewmembers beginning to return from shore leave due the Enterprise’s forthcoming departure from orbit, Kirk was able to sit up in bed, his torso strapped, his movement somewhat curtailed.  But at least he was able to take deep breaths, and that signified freedom.

“Captain?”

There was an unvoiced question.  “I’m not bored, because I keep thinking.”

“I know you are thinking about returning to the bridge.”

“That, too.”

“I know your nature well enough, the fact I am an alien species to yourself, is not of consequence to you.”

“This intensity is what concerns me.”  A slight sound, from the adjoining room, had both men looking in that direction.  Finally assured of their privacy, Spock’s gaze returned to his captain’s face as Kirk continued.  “But the potential for inflagration between us, plus the fact we’re already spending nearly every waking moment in each other’s company. . .”

“You fear we would burn ourselves out, is the vernacular, I believe?”

Kirk chuckled, but it had an edge to it.  “We have to work together.  What if I blow it?”

“Perhaps I will blow it.”

The response initiated another involuntary laugh.  “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what?”

“Spock, my back.  Believe me, laughter impacts negatively on my torso right now.” 

“Forgive me, I wasn’t thinking.”

Kirk was stunned at the admission.  “That’s a first.  And I’m not sure I like that.”  Thinking is exactly what he counted on his first officer for.

“You have that affect upon me.”

“Well, I kind of like that.  It’s flattering.”

“I would have told you before. . .”

“Oh.  But, you see, you’re being charming now.  That makes it even harder to keep our relationship platonic.”

“If we already confess to feelings towards each other, does it matter whether our relationship proceeds on a platonic basis or not?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Either the feelings are there, or they are not.  When you have loved someone, did you love them more or less due to the physical nature of the involvement?”

“There are different types of love, and ways of expressing it.  But I get what you’re saying.  We care enough for each other, whether we become physical lovers or not – in the future – is actually pointless to the condition, as we already love.”

“Precisely, Captain.”

“So that’s been your approach.  Vulcans can make everything – even love – logical.”

“To a certain extent, only.  Even passion can be justified, when the cause is sufficient for arousal.”

“I’ll have to ensure I don’t do anything to arouse you.  But you have the poet in you, Mr. Spock.  You should have warned me.”

“You should have known.”

It was time to lessen the intensity, Kirk judged.  “I wonder what McCoy would make of this?” 

And, frankly, he was delighted any physical relationship was neither anticipated nor expected.  That gave him time – both of them - to sort through this latest conundrum while abiding by Starfleet regulations.  He was not going to lose the best first officer in the fleet.  This was a win/win, and that he was very familiar with. 

“If I continue to keep you out of trouble, I am assured Dr. McCoy will be delighted.”

Kirk knew he was being teased, but he also recognized the truth.  Besides, it hadn’t escaped his notice that McCoy made himself scarce whenever the first officer came to visit.

He never cried and he didn’t now.  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t overwhelmed.  “I hadn’t realized how much I was loved.”  Then he felt Spock’s fingers press into his temple and allowed his eyelids to be gently closed.

“Rest, T’hy’la.”  It was the gentle, deep voice of the first officer as he soothed his captain’s brow.

THE END