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Chapter Text

The seventh light appeared in the sky during an otherwise unremarkable day on Enterprise. Lt. Spock performed the proper analytics, logged the phenomenon – which would remain officially unexplained, due to the classification level – and went about his duties. When his shift ended, though, Spock activated the comm screen in his quarters and placed a call to Earth. A bearded man with long black hair answered, a smile already on his face.

“I heard about the strange red light Enterprise charted today,” Ash Tyler said.

Spock inclined his head slightly. “I thought you might have heard, since it is your business to collect information from all corners of the Federation. Nevertheless, I believed you would appreciate a personal call from me.”

“I do,” Ash said sincerely, “and it’s great news.” Both men hesitated, then, because this was not a secure channel and they had to tread lightly in their conversation topics. At length, Ash ventured to say, “I see you lost the beard.”

“Indeed, with my return to active duty, it seemed an apropos time to try a different style,” Spock confirmed. After another pause, he added, “How are you?”

Ash shrugged and said, “Very busy, and in slightly over my head. I went from a lieutenant to a commander way too quickly, as you know.”

“On the contrary, I believe your promotion was well deserved,” Spock replied.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. That’s very – thanks,” Ash responded, ducking his head slightly so that his hair fell into his face. “I mean, obviously the circumstances were…are…tragic, and I wish I weren’t, I mean, I wish this wasn't on me, but I appreciate your saying that.”

Spock knew that Vulcan praise often disarmed humans, yet he hadn’t expected Ash Tyler to get tongue-tied after such a simple compliment. The man had always seemed quite self-assured. He wondered if Michael had seen this awkward side of her lover. Perhaps she had found it attractive? He realized that, along with a great many other things left unsaid, he had never asked his sister a single question about her taste in men. Now – as the signal in the sky indicated - it was far too late to ask. Too early, rather.

None of those thoughts helped him decide what to say next. “I hope you have identified reliable allies and colleagues, in the past four months,” he offered.

Ash furrowed his brow and said, “I’ve tried to, but – well. I’ll spare you the details.” Before Spock could ask why details counted as punishment, Ash continued, “I doubt I’ll ever meet another angel.”

Spock did not let his surprise at the blatant reference to classified information show on his face. Section 31 did things differently, for sure. “I, for one, do not believe in angels,” he said, perhaps a bit faster than he would’ve spoken in other circumstances.

A sad smile spread across the other man’s face. Ash said, “Yet there was an angel that believed in you.”

“And you,” Spock admitted. Then, to avoid any unseemly displays of emotion, he wrapped up the call with, “Live long and prosper, Commander Tyler.”

“Same to you, Spock.”

Chapter Text

Twelve days after Spock’s initial mutiny, and six days after leaving Christopher Pike on Talos IV, the Enterprise docked at Starbase 11 to return a shuttlecraft. Captain Kirk also expected there to be tedious meetings to resolve various legal details. Lt. Commander Spock concurred with that expectation, reasoning that it might be far easier for Starfleet Command to decide that they wouldn’t execute him than it would be for them to vacate a conviction entirely. General Order 7 was still officially in effect, and Spock’s blatant defiance of it was now in the public record. He arrived at the starbase prepared for consequences – a reprimand, a demotion, a short prison sentence – something that would keep him alive while also reminding other officers that they couldn’t go around kidnapping fleet captains and stealing starships.

To Spock’s surprise, he was greeted not by MPs but by Commodore Mendez, who actually congratulated him on his ingenious plan to give Pike a better quality of life. Then he offered the starbase’s shore leave facilities to the Enterprise crew, who “no doubt could use a vacation,” as he put it. Kirk barely hemmed or hawed at all, notwithstanding the recent two-week detour from their planned duties. The captain put himself on the first shore rotation and headed off for a drink with the commodore.

Spock found himself returning to his own quarters without forming a clear conclusion about what these facts meant. By the time he got there, someone else was in his room. The occupant wore all black, and he was as tall as Spock himself. Spock recognized him immediately.

“Good evening, Commander Tyler,” he said aloud. Quietly, he thought, Of course the Section would be interested. My actions drew attention to certain holes in security.

“Hi, Spock,” the man said, “And you can call me Ash. We’re off-duty right now.”

Surprised to hear this was an off-duty visit, Spock merely nodded in acknowledgement. “Can I offer you tea?” he inquired politely.

“Please,” Ash said, and Spock stepped into his sleeping nook. He got out two teabags and two mugs, dispensed hot water from the spigot, and returned to the seating area. Ash hadn’t taken a seat, so Spock took his own and set Ash’s mug in front of the other chair. Ash sat down, picked up the mug, and blurted out, “You should’ve warned me you were planning something.”

“Announcing one’s intention to commit a crime makes accomplices of all who listen,” Spock pointed out as he sipped his own tea. “It was necessary to keep my plans secret, so that the punishment would fall on me alone.”

“Oh, please.” Ash set the mug down with a definitive thunk. He stated, “You can spare me the noble-martyr act. I’ve spent the past week here pulling strings to save your life, your rank, and your assignment, all of which would’ve been easier to arrange if you’d warned me that it was going to be necessary.”

Spock absorbed the information and responded, “I am honored that you expended your efforts on my behalf.”

“You’re welcome,” Ash said, in a tone that implied he knew that was the closest to thank you that the Vulcan would ever come. In a more demanding tone, he asked, “Why didn’t you call me before you fled to a forbidden planet? I could’ve helped you.” To Spock’s incredulously raised eyebrow, he added, “And I wouldn’t have ratted you out. I’ve been in covert ops for almost a decade now, you could’ve trusted me with this.” Spock continued to regard him silently, eyebrow still raised. Ash added, “Besides, I care about Christopher Pike, too.”

Spock drank more of the tea, put the mug down, and looked away at the bulkhead. “I don’t believe Captain Pike ever told you about his vision on Boreth. The future he saw in the time crystal.”

It wasn’t a question, but Ash still answered, “Not the details, no.”

“It was a vision of his accident and his subsequent disability,” Spock explained. He didn’t need to turn his eyes from the bulkhead to know that shock was spreading across Ash’s face. He didn’t need telepathy, either. It was enough to know Ash Tyler’s character. Human beings have characteristics, just as inanimate objects do. Preempting Ash’s next questions, he continued, “The captain confided in me and in a few other close friends, but resisted any suggestion that he should try to alter events. He believed any other outcome would be worse, on balance, for the universe. It was important to him that when he inspected that training cruise, he would behave exactly as if his fate was sealed. For that reason, I never told him, nor anyone else, that I had devised a plan to get him back to Talos IV afterwards.”

When he finally turned back to meet Ash’s eyes, they were wet. There were no tears on the other man’s cheeks, though. Ash Tyler was a resilient human. When he next spoke, it was to say, “Thank you for explaining, Spock.”

“You’re welcome,” Spock replied, “I am truly grateful for your coming all this way in an effort to protect me from the consequences of my actions, although I do not believe your trip was as necessary as you do.”

Now it was Ash’s turn to look incredulous. “Are you kidding? I couldn’t let them execute you.”

“Each time I’ve traveled to Talos IV,” Spock said, choosing his words with care, “I’ve been accompanied by friends I could trust to get me out of there safely.” For a moment, they stared at each other across the table. They were two of only a handful of sentient beings in the universe who knew that Spock had been to that planet three times, not twice, and whom he’d been with the second time. Both hesitated to speak that aloud, though, not even in private. Instead, Spock added, “Captain James T. Kirk would not have executed me without giving me ample time to appeal. I predicted that in any appeals process, I would have been able to play on the sympathies of officers who knew and respected Captain Pike and who understood that the death penalty is an obsolete punishment.”

“And if worse came to worst, your parents have diplomatic immunity?” Ash ventured.

Spock nodded. “I did not rely on my estranged father to save me. However, my mother has shown willingness, in the past, to interfere on my behalf.” The weight of unmentioned details – time travel, insanity, AI-hallucinated murder charges – settled between them once more. “I was, however, fully prepared to accept my death if such became inevitable,” Spock concluded.

There was silence for 2.25 minutes before Ash said, “I was ready to accept mine, when I was executed. Did anyone ever tell you that story?” Spock shook his head. Ash went on, “During the war, when Voq was activated…took over this body…he – that is, we – killed one crewman, and tried to kill…” He paused for a deep breath and then whispered, “Michael.” Spock waited while Ash swallowed heavily. His voice was still choked when he added, “This didn’t happen in the Federation, or on Discovery. We were on a classified mission, undercover, and the laws of that place said an attempted murder victim had the right to beam the killer out into space. So she did. But without my knowing, she’d arranged for Discovery to wait nearby and beam me back in before I suffocated.” Those tears that had been lingering in his eyes were falling now, in earnest. Spock retrieved a handkerchief from his drawer and handed it over. Ash accepted it and wiped furiously at his eyes while saying, “Do you know what my first words were, when I realized I wasn’t dead? That I was still at Voq’s mercy? I said, ‘She should have let me die.’ Those were the first words of my second life. Turned out to be wrong. They found a way to shove Voq back into my subconscious and give Ash Tyler this body, and I got to live again.

“For a few seconds out in that cold vacuum with nothing but stars around, I truly thought I was dead. But then, your sister pulled off a miracle.” He let out a sob over that last sentence.

Spock said, whispering quietly despite the logical assumption that nobody could hear them in his private quarters, “She pulled off quite a few of those.”

“She did. She really did. And you and I are approximately half of the people left alive in this century who loved her for it. So yeah, 10 days ago when I heard you’d mutinied, kidnapped, pirated Enterprise, and were in the process of violating General Order 7, I rushed straight here to try to save you. I did it whether you think it was necessary or not.” Ash blew his nose and shook the hair out of his face, showing off his red eyes and wet cheeks as if daring Spock to comment on them.

Spock let that pass and repeated, “As I said, I am honored that you expended your efforts on my behalf. Or should I say, on Michael’s behalf?” He knew by the look in Ash’s eyes he’d hit upon the truth. Even with the two of them separated by time in more ways than one – ten years past, 900 ahead – Commander Tyler was still doing things for Michael Burnham’s sake.

Looking into Ash’s eyes, Spock found himself unable to comment on how illogical, even irrational, such behavior was.

After 1.33 minutes of silence, Ash lifted his mug and said softly, “To Michael, and to all of us saved by her miracles.” Spock lifted his own and tapped the rims together, drinking to the toast.

He was about to offer further comment on his sister’s life and legacy, when he suddenly heard a door swishing open. Ash, no doubt conditioned by a life spent in shadows, jumped to his feet and spun around immediately. Captain Kirk emerged from the bathroom that connected their quarters saying, “Spock, I thought we might finish that chess game now that – oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.”

Spock rose to his feet and made the introductions. “Captain Kirk, this is Commander Ash Tyler of Starfleet Intelligence. Commander Tyler, Captain Kirk of the Enterprise.”

“Starfleet Intelligence?” Kirk asked, brows furrowing even as he extended his hand for a shake. “Am I interrupting a debriefing?”

“No,” Ash said quickly as he shook Kirk’s hand. “This is a social call. Lieutenant Spock and I crossed paths on a mission years ago under Captain Pike’s command. When I heard about everything, I decided to drop by and thank Spock for arranging such good care for Pike.”

Spock could see the concern leave Kirk’s face. “Oh, well, in that case, I should leave and let you finish catching up.”

“No need,” Ash said. “I was about to go, anyway. It’s good to see you, Mr. Spock.”

“And you as well, Commander Tyler.”

Ash headed for the door, and halfway there he managed to make it sound casual when he said over his shoulder, “Don’t forget what I said about calling me next time.”

“I will not,” Spock replied.

Chapter Text

When the call connected, Spock said, “I have encountered a survivor of the Klingon choH’a’ process. They are at Deep Space Station K-7.”

Without another word, Ash Tyler said, “I’ll call you back as soon as I’m in the air.” Sure enough, Ash placed a return call 37.2 minutes later, and Spock could see that he was calling from the cockpit of a small craft. “My ETA is 79 hours at maximum warp,” Ash explained, “So, let’s hear the details.”

Spock recounted the events of the preceding days: how Undersecretary Baris had issued a Code-One alert over the security of quadrotriticale; how the Enterprise, DSK-7, and a Klingon cruiser had all been infested with tribbles due to an irresponsible pet dealer; how the tribbles had infested the grain and subsequently died of poisoning; and how the tribbles reacted positively to all humans and Vulcans, but shrieked equally at the Klingon commander, Koloth, and Baris’ aide, Arne Darvin.

“Our subsequent research into Mr. Darvin’s personal history and logs indicates that while he was conducting agricultural research and botanical surveys on Sherman’s planet last year, there was a period of two months during which none of his colleagues saw him in person,” Spock explained. “Since the planet is sparsely populated and he continued to submit text reports throughout that time, it was not considered a suspicious absence. Now, however, we suspect that he was in fact captured by the Klingons and subjected to the personality transplant procedure as part of a long-term strategy to undermine Federation development efforts on the disputed planet.”

Spock expected an emotional outburst to be Ash Tyler’s reaction. Human responses to trauma were varied, it was true, yet witnessing Ash’s tears in the past had led him to conclude that weeping was part of the man’s habits. Or, as Amanda would’ve said, sometimes humans just need a good cry.

It was unexpected, therefore, that Ash Tyler reacted with curiosity. “Wait, did you say a tribble is what caught him out?” he asked. “That’s…very strange.” Before Spock could ask for further information, Ash appeared to shake himself slightly and turned to practical matters. “Our first priority has to be following up with other Federation representatives who have been on Sherman’s planet in the past two years. I’ll have my people draw up a list. Please ask the K-7 authorities to preserve a few living specimens of those tribbles for additional study. If I recall correctly, they don’t breed as fast if you keep them away from complex carbohydrates. Meanwhile, I’ll reach out to some Klingon sources…” And the conversation continued in that vein until Ash disconnected to follow up with Section 31 agents and get his ship to K-7.

The night after he arrived at K-7, Spock witnessed Ash Tyler’s trauma responses in rather more intimate and messy detail than he might’ve preferred. To wit, Ash showed up at his door, wavering on his feet and slurring his speech, then lurched into the bathroom. Spock followed him in order to ascertain whether medical help was required, and so was a witness to his vomiting.

The commotion must’ve been audible from the far side of the adjoining door, because Captain Kirk entered the shared bathroom moments later. When he took stock of the situation, he said to Spock, “Please tell me that’s bloodwine he’s throwing up, not actual blood?”

Averting his eyes from the stricken Section 31 agent, Spock answered the captain, “That would be the logical conclusion. Although I have not witnessed Commander Tyler imbibing any alcohol this evening, his symptoms are more in line with intoxication than internal injury.”

“Well, there’s a relief,” Captain Kirk said. “If I may ask, though, why is he in our bathroom?”

Ash stopped gagging long enough to gasp out, “B’coz we forgot … it was Discovery.” It was the same thing he’d said at the door to Spock’s quarters, and Spock hoped he wasn’t going to elaborate.

The captain’s face showed bewilderment and concern in equal measure. “Well, that clarifies nothing,” he said. “But I suppose we can’t expect too much from him in this condition.”

Ash mumbled, “Spock’s the only one who remembers Michael.”

At that, Spock stiffened involuntarily. Drunken ramblings can be dangerous for operational security, or as some humans would say, loose lips sink ships. In an attempt to change the subject, he offered, “Perhaps I should summon Dr. McCoy?”

“Call in the ship’s surgeon for drunkenness? And let rumors spread that one of us injured the head of Section 31?” Kirk shook his head. “That would not be the logical solution, nor the one that helps any of us save face. No, Spock, just keep him from choking for the next few minutes,” he said firmly.

Spock dutifully stayed by Ash’s side, though he wasn’t sure it was necessary. The commander was still conscious, and conscious men can mostly protect their own airways. Mostly.

Fortunately, the captain came back after only 75 seconds, bearing an electrolyte-balanced sports drink and a small pill. He crouched down next to Ash Tyler and said, “Commander, see if you can swallow this. It’ll help.” He handed over the pill, then brushed the other man’s hair out of his face and helped him take a sip of the drink.

“What…?” Ash belatedly tried to ask.

“Only something to sober you up,” Kirk said reassuringly. “Spock, help me lay him down on his left side, it’ll help with the dizziness.”

As Spock crouched to assist in arranging Ash’s limbs, he softly commented, “I did not realize you kept prescription-strength sobriety remedies in your quarters, Captain.”

Kirk shrugged that off with, “Rank hath its privileges, and please call me Jim when we’re nursing a drunk man in our shared bathroom at oh-dark-thirty. Now, in 5 minutes or so, I predict Commander Tyler will be feeling much more coherent, and we can ask him what this is all about.”

Spock was very much not looking forward to that conversation.

From somewhere in his quarters, Jim produced a Starfleet sweatshirt and a spare toothbrush. As soon as Ash Tyler began to recover, he looked absolutely mortified. Before he could make any apologies, Jim was saying, “Commander, I recommend you wash your face, take off that dirty shirt, and brush your teeth. Then, the three of us are going to reconvene in my quarters and discuss what you came here to tell us.”

Ash looked at Spock as if he hoped for rescue, but Spock knew Jim’s tones well enough to know there was no use trying to object. “I will await you in the captain’s quarters,” he said, and followed Jim out of the bathroom.

Jim set 3 glasses on his little side table, filling two with water and one with the sports drink for the hungover Commander. He also opened the safe cabinet and retrieved an emergency ration bar. Spock hadn’t realized he kept food in this room; that was interesting.

Then, captain and first officer settled themselves in the small sitting nook.  Spock thought they might make quite a sketch for a satirist, at this moment: he, in his meditation robes, and Jim, in his pajamas, staring at each other wordlessly. He wondered if he ought to say something in Ash Tyler’s defense; Jim Kirk barely knew the man, and this was hardly the best way to spark a professional friendship.

To his surprise, though, Jim spoke first. “If I know anything about nohol hangovers, which I think I do, Commander Tyler is about to come in here thinking he needs to explain why he got that drunk. But I believe we can safely assume that discussing the choH’a’ opened some old wounds for him, so let’s try to reassure him that we understand.” Spock nodded acquiescence, though in point of fact he did not understand how imbibing bloodwine would help a man deal with the old trauma of finding out his self-identity was actually a dead man’s psyche grafted onto a Klingon’s bones. Human behavior was so illogical.

Jim added, “I must admit, however, that I missed the signs at our earlier meeting. When we wrapped it up, I wouldn’t have guessed that was a man who was about to go drink himself sick. He seemed quite calm.”

Naturally, a still-shaky Ash Tyler emerged from the bathroom at that very moment and said, “I’m afraid I’ve had a lot of practice with seeming calm, Captain. Much more practice than I’ve had with drinking bloodwine.” He was tugging at the sweatshirt’s sleeves self-consciously; since Jim Kirk was 12.7 centimeters shorter than Ash Tyler, it didn’t fit at all. He attempted a smile, but even Spock could see it was a false one.

“Commander Tyler,” Jim said, answering with a much more genuine smile. “Please, have a seat. Drink some of this rehydration stuff and eat a ration bar.”

Spock would not have been surprised if Tyler had instead run straight out the door. However, the man followed Jim’s instructions, even lightening his tone a bit to say, “I think you should call me Ash, since I just puked up my guts in your bathroom.”

“In that case, I’m Jim.”

Spock was only Spock.

There was a pause of 13 seconds as Ash sipped his drink. Then Jim asked, “Forgive me for prying into the affairs of Starfleet Intelligence, but where did you even find bloodwine? Do I need to lecture somebody about contraband?”

Ash grimaced. “No, I had it on my own ship. Intelligence gathering sometimes means visiting border worlds and greasing a few palms, so I keep a bottle handy. And, despite appearances, please believe me that I definitely know better than to drink the whole thing myself.”

“I do believe you,” Jim said, and Spock realized that the man meant it. Jim Kirk and Ash Tyler were bonding – in the human sense of the term – before his very eyes. They had found common ground in the shape of ‘getting drunk to avoid thinking about trauma.’ Intriguing.

Jim was saying, “I suppose that a lengthy briefing about Arne Darvin’s condition would be enough to upset anyone who’s ever been a Klingon prisoner, especially one who’s been through the same thing as him. If I were less tired, I would’ve thought to send a yeoman to make sure you were safe.”

The briefing to which Jim referred had taken place earlier in the day and lasted for 2.75 fruitless hours. Most of its duration had been spent on the question of why the tribbles on Starbase K-7 reacted to the Klingon in Arne Darvin’s human form, whereas a tribble Ash Tyler had encountered years ago on Discovery had not reacted similarly. The competing hypotheses had been a) there was something different about that tribble, or b) there was something different about the choH’a’ of 11 years ago compared to today. Neither hypothesis could be tested adequately, for history did not record where Captain Lorca got his tribble or what became of it, and detailed information on how choH’a’ was supposed to work was unavailable. The discussion had, therefore, ended in a lack of satisfactory answers, some 3.25 hours prior to Ash Tyler’s showing up drunk at Spock’s door.

Ash managed to look even more uncomfortable after Jim’s comforting words. “I was doing all right during the meeting,” he admitted, “Afterwards, I was trying to remember as much about my choH’a’ as I could. I thought it was important enough to be worth it.” He swallowed hard and added, “Then I really needed a freaking drink, and, well. I had too much.”

The captain nodded knowingly. Then, in a gentle tone, he asked, “Who’s Michael?”

Ash dropped his eyes and stared at his rehydration drink. After 2.4 seconds, Spock jumped in to say, “She was a crewwoman aboard the USS Discovery when it was destroyed with loss of all hands in 2258. Prior to that, during the Klingon War, she and Commander Tyler had engaged in a romantic relationship.” He kept his face even blanker than usual while he said it.

Jim looked from the silent Ash to the expressionless Spock, and after 1.5 seconds followed up with, “All right, can someone explain what this has to do with tribbles and Klingons?”

Spock wasn’t sure, so he looked over at Ash, who was still staring at his drink. Silence reigned for 3.7 seconds before Ash finally said, “I think the tribble didn’t catch me because my choH’a’ was never really…complete.” He took a large swig of the drink, sighed, and explained, “Remember how Darvin said that there was a time during the choH’a’ when he thought he was human? Between all of the…the surgeries…and his full activation?” Jim nodded. Ash continued, “Well. Ash Tyler started out as a prisoner of war, and Voq went through all the surgeries, and got Ash’s personality implanted. The plan was to activate Voq, then release Ash Tyler as part of a prisoner exchange, which would get Voq on board a Federation ship. Presto chango, Fifth Columnist.”

His voice was far too flat for the level of emotion Spock could see in his face.

He went on, “But I broke out of prison while I still thought I was Ash Tyler. The Klingons didn’t have a chance to activate Voq. Then, just a few days after I escaped to Discovery, I met Michael.” His voice faltered slightly as he added, “and I fell in love.” He took another big swig and said, voice rough with emotion, “Later on, a Klingon defector tried to activate me, but it didn’t work right. The Ash Tyler personality fought back and Voq couldn’t take control.”

Spock had deduced the meaning of this story, and decided to spare the obviously sick Ash the trouble of explaining further. He said, “Jim, recall that Arne Darvin’s file describes him as ‘comfortable with solitary assignments.’ He also has no immediate family. The same was true of Ash Tyler, according to his prewar records.”

Jim looked a bit skeptical as he asked, “So…what, the choH’a’ only works if you have no close relationships?”

“It is not unreasonable to suppose that strong relationships could affect the resilience of an implanted personality,” Spock explained. “Perhaps choH’a’ candidates are selected based on the relative strength of the Klingon’s and the human’s social ties.”

“They are,” Ash interjected. “I went back into Voq’s memories, looked at why he picked Ash Tyler as the person to merge with. As a POW, I was an orphan who’d just lost his whole crew and hated his cellmate’s guts. To Voq, Ash came across as…” He swallowed hard and added, “someone no one would miss. And that was true, until the connection with Michael. She was a strong tether.”

Jim grimaced. Spock could see that he was considering different possible responses for at last 1.3 seconds, before he settled on, “At least this solves one mystery. The tribble never saw you fully activated.” To Spock, he added, “It doesn’t help us much with what to do with Mr. Darvin, though.”

“Section 31 will take him into custody,” Ash said, his voice firmer than it had been all night. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

Jim’s surprised look only lasted a moment. “Of course, this is a matter for Starfleet Intelligence,” he agreed. “By the way, though, why did you come to Spock’s quarters to talk about this?”

Ash looked up at Spock, anxiety in his eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t thought of a cover story for why Spock would care about his deceased ex-lover. Spock saved him with a simple, “I was on friendly terms with Michael Burnham. We both grieved her loss, after Discovery’s destruction. I assume that in his inebriated state, Commander Tyler’s emotions from that time were churned up, and he thought I might be a friendly ear.”

Although it was a thin excuse at best, and one which begged a number of follow-up questions – “do you mean Michael Burnham the mutineer” and “how did you know her” being the two most obvious – Jim seemingly accepted that answer. “Well then. I assume an official report on our theory about the ‘power of love’ as it affects choH’a’ can wait until morning. Meanwhile, why don’t we all return to our quarters and try to get some sleep?”

Chapter Text

Just when you thought life couldn’t have more surprises, the dead shall be raised, Ash Tyler mused as he headed for the S’chn T’gai family’s front door. Fortunately, Spock’s family was prominent enough that their country estate was marked on maps as a point of interest. It might’ve been awkward, at the moment, for a human – an intelligence agent, no less – to turn up and ask for directions to the current home of 6 deserters from Starfleet.

The whole Federation was abuzz with the story of Spock’s resurrection and the defection of Kirk, McCoy, Scott, Uhura, Sulu, and Chekov. On Earth, public opinion was divided on whether “trying to get our best friend’s soul into Vulcan heaven” was a reasonable justification for the various crimes involved in hijacking the Enterprise. On Vulcan, Ash’s sources told him, there was enough astonishment around the first fal-tor-pan to be successfully performed in centuries that nobody was going to argue with Sarek and Amanda’s decision to offer sanctuary to the Enterprise bridge crew.

Section 31 wasn’t directly involved, though. Ash was here on personal business. He towed a large crate on an anti-gravity sled up to the front door and rang the bell. Within a few minutes, Amanda was ushering him into a small sitting room that contained – wonder of wonders – Spock, alive and in the flesh. “Spock,” she said, “There’s a visitor here to see you. He’s an old friend, Ash Tyler. I’ll let you two catch up.” Then she left again, shooting Ash a small, encouraging smile.

Ash went further into the room, Spock’s eyes following him all the way. Ash took a seat across from where Spock was sitting on a tiny couch, with PADDs and books spread out on the low table between them. “Hello,” Ash began. He wasn’t sure what to say next. “Your mother said you don’t remember much, yet,” he ventured.

“That is correct,” Spock confirmed. “I don’t know who you are.”

Ash wasn’t offended. He’d prepared for this. Vulcan resurrection rituals might be vanishingly rare, but memory loss is all too common a symptom. Meet them where they are, he reminded himself. “Well, like your mother said, we’re old friends,” he said. “We met a long time ago on a ship named Discovery.”

Spock took that in, with evident skepticism. His face was more expressive than usual; no doubt his emotional controls had been collateral damage in the process of dying and coming back to life. He asked, “Do you have pictures of us together?”

Surprised, Ash said, “I’m not sure. I might. Why?”

“Everyone I meet says they’re my friend,” Spock explained, “but even the ones I recognize, I can’t remember details about the relationship. The only people I really feel like I know are the ones I met right after I came back to life, one of whom has since died. That was David Marcus and he was Jim Kirk’s son, but I didn’t know that. I didn’t remember Jim until after the fal-tor-pan. I only knew David as a man who was trying to help me. Saavik, too, she turns out to be someone I helped to raise, but when I woke up on Genesis I thought she was my mother.” Spock seemingly caught himself and stopped the flow of irrelevant information, adding, “Anyway, we’ve had some success jogging my memory with photos or holovids of events I was present for.”

Ash listened to the entire speech with a small smile on his face. This was someone who looked like Spock and sounded like Spock yet spoke like a toddler, total stream-of-consciousness. “Let me see if I can find something,” he said, pulling out his personal PADD. He kept his photos off public sites as much as he could, given the nature of his work, but had some sentimental ones saved locally in a private folder. He took a few minutes to skim through them, Spock watching with those big brown eyes all the while. “Ah, here you go,” he said finally, “a picture of you on the receiving line at my wedding. It must be 8 years ago, now.”

He handed over the device and Spock contemplated the image for a long moment. It was a candid shot of Spock giving the ta’al to Ash and his bride. Eventually he asked, “Do I know your wife?”

“Not well, though you’ve met her a couple of times. Her name is Mia,” Ash said.

Another long moment, more contemplation. “You look happy in this picture,” Spock said, followed by, “Any children?”

“No,” Ash said, and because that was as good a segue as any he was likely to get, “Actually, we can’t conceive. My brain is human, but my body isn’t. I was a POW during the Klingon War in 2257 and got forcibly merged with a Klingon named Voq who wanted to infiltrate the Federation. When the war was over, I ended up using Voq’s memories to become an asset for Starfleet Intelligence.” That was the shortest possible version of the story; Ash had spent the 16-light-year trip from Earth to Vulcan workshopping it.

Spock absorbed the information without any sign of shock. After a moment, he said, “I was captured by Klingons once, on Organia. That was in the public mission reports that Jim’s shown me.”

Encouraged, Ash said, “Yes, during the Four-Day War. I debriefed you afterwards about the mind-sifter they used on you.” He resisted the urge to ask do you remember that. It wouldn’t help.

Spock looked back at the wedding photo. “I think I’m congratulating you in this picture. Still, I don’t recognize you.”

“That’s fine,” Ash said, keeping his tone neutral. He suspected Spock had heard enough sympathetic tones, recently. He decided to get to the purpose of his visit, instead. “I brought you some of your personal items from your apartment on Earth. Your mother hoped they might spark some memories. Would you like to see those?”

“I would.” Spock stood and tugged down on his shirt hem – a completely unnecessary action, and one Ash recognized as habit from years of wearing Starfleet-issue tunics. The ol’ muscle memory is kicking in, at least, he reflected. He had no idea if that was a good sign. Ash Tyler 2.0 had been able to dance and shoot and fly a shuttle the same as pre-war Ash Tyler had, but that hadn’t helped him uncover the memories of what really happened in the Klingon prison ship.

Together, they went back into the large, open-plan kitchen where Amanda had told Ash to leave the crate. As they entered, she was clearing space on a large table. “You can unpack right here,” she told Spock, “And we’ll figure out together which items you want moved to your room. Don’t rush, either. You know what the healer said about letting your brain make connections in its own time.”

“Yes, I know,” Spock said as he took the seat she was offering.

Ash unsealed the crate’s lid and explained, “I couldn’t pack up everything without making your neighbors suspicious, so I tried to grab items that seem like you used them a lot. I even found a tape marked ‘personal logs,’ and I’m hoping the encryption key is your voice or your fingerprint.” He’d packed that tape right on top, so he laid it on the table next to Spock. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said.

Amanda offered him some snacks, so the two of them moved over to the kitchen island. She pulled out a veritable feast of fruits and nuts and embarked on a campaign of what Ash thought of as Mom Talk. A mother like Amanda – or like his own late mother – could be facing total implosion of a planet and still ask, “Have you been working too hard?” and “how was the fishing this year?” and “is Mia doing well after her surgery last month?” and a thousand other questions that somehow never come across as nosy. Ash gamely kept up with the Mom Talk, not remotely giving as good as he got. The only question he could possible have asked would be, “so, how does it feel to have your son rise from the dead?” And there was no good way to ask that.

It did not escape his notice that Amanda had positioned their seats at the island such that both of them could discreetly sneak glances over to see how Spock was faring. As their Mom Talk continued, Ash took advantage of that. Spock had shown no outward emotion and made no verbal reactions, yet he was working his way through the crate methodically. A hodgepodge of knickknacks, garments, toiletry kits, and makeup boxes was building up on the table.

After a quarter of an hour, none other than James T. Kirk walked into the kitchen. Upon seeing Ash, he frowned and said, “We have diplomatic immunity as guests of the ambassador. Section 31 has no jurisdiction here.” Interesting, Ash thought, Amanda didn’t tell him I was coming.

Before he could say that aloud, Amanda jumped in with, “Relax, Jim. Ash is here as a friend, not a Starfleet officer.” She explained how she’d asked for Ash to use his “super-secret covert-ops skills” to gain access to Spock’s apartment and personal effects, because “he hasn’t lived in this house in four decades and the healers said familiarity would help.”

Ash knew exactly what Jim Kirk’s next question would be, and the man did not disappoint: “Wait, Amanda, how do you know the commander of Section 31?”

“I don’t,” she said, with a diplomat’s poise. “I know Ash Tyler from when he was dating my daughter.” When Ash saw the confused look on Kirk’s face, he could only think, oh, shit. The erstwhile captain’s eyes narrowed, even as Amanda added, “Ash has always remembered to send me a message on her birthday and Mother’s Day. He’s thoughtful that way.”

Kirk’s tone was dark as he pointed out, “Lady Amanda, you don’t have a daughter.”

Ash was already opening his mouth to offer up a cover story, when Amanda said, “Oh, Jim, surely Spock told you about Michael Burnham? With as close as you are?”

“Michael who?”

“Burnham,” Amanda went on, even as Ash tensed up and considered fleeing the room. “After her parents died in a Klingon raid, she was raised in this household as Spock’s foster sister. They didn’t keep in close touch after she joined Starfleet, though. She was twenty-three and he was nineteen and, well, I suppose they both wanted to forge their own paths.”

Three decades as a Section operative had given Ash an instinctive horror of revealing classified information. This conversation had his blood roaring in his ears and his throat going dry. Some distant part of his brain was proud of Amanda for making the Spock/Michael rupture sound understandable and like the type of thing that could happen in any family. (Granted, this was a family whose history made many miracles seem possible.) Meanwhile, however, the forefront of his mind was screaming shut this woman up before she tells Kirk everything else that’s supposed to be top secret.

(A split second later, yet a third part of Ash’s brain chimed in with the suggestion, maybe classification levels don’t matter to someone who already turned pirate. But Ash had no patience to entertain that thought.)

So, to divert the conversation, he blurted out, “I met Michael on Discovery during the Klingon War. I told you that part when we first met, right? And then she died when that ship was lost in an accident.”

From over by the table, a deep voice replied, “No, she didn’t.”

Judging by the start Amanda gave, Ash knew he wasn’t the only one who’d nearly forgotten Spock was in the room. All eyes were on him now, though: Jim Kirk’s, Amanda’s, and Ash’s. Curiously, Spock was looking at none of them. He was staring into the crate he’d been unpacking. Jim spoke first: “Spock, is it true you had a sister?”

“Yes,” Spock said. Although he nodded for emphasis, he directed his statements to the crate’s interior, rather than to anyone in the room. “Although your use of the past tense is in error. Michael is not dead. She only went away.”

Jim’s eyes flicked from Ash to Amanda and back to Spock, asking, “Where did she go?”

Later, Ash would reflect that this was simultaneously the least intrusive and most unfortunate question he could possibly have asked. Helpless, he watched the keeping-state-secrets ship sail away.

Still looking at the crate, Spock replied, “Not where, when. It was at least 900 years into the future, based on the calculations I made after seeing her signal in the sky. She had to take Discovery to the future because it had data on it that would have helped a sentient AI gain the power to wipe out organic life. We tried to delete the data or transfer it elsewhere, but nothing worked. Captain Pike obtained a time-crystal, and we used it to create a portal to the future. I would have followed her, if my shuttle had not malfunctioned.” He looked up at last as he pulled something from the crate. “She gave me this as a belated birthday present when we were both aboard Discovery.” He held up a pendant with a triangle imposed over a circle, strung on a necklace.

“Your IDIC pendant?” Kirk asked incredulously. “The one I’ve seen you wear a thousand times? That was a gift from your long-lost sister whom you’ve never ever mentioned before?”

“It was a gift from my sister, Michael Burnham. I do not remember whether I have ever mentioned her to you, Jim,” Spock said, his trademark matter-of-fact tone in full effect. “Nearly her entire file was classified to protect the information on artificial intelligence and time travel and the Mirror Universe. If I ever tried to describe her to you, therefore, I assume I was quite circumspect. Her career was full of outlandish events. Until I met your Terran counterpart, I hardly believed some of it myself.”

Kirk, seemingly at a loss for anything to say to Spock, turned to Ash instead. “Is this true?” Ash could only nod; it was too late to put the cat back in the proverbial bag, yet if he started talking, he was sure he’d find a way to make this worse. Kirk persisted with, “Michael Burnham was Spock’s sister, and that’s the Michael you were in love with?” Another nod. Kirk continued, his voice rising incredulously, “Michael Burnham the mutineer-slash-war hero?”  Ash could’ve tried to object to those labels – how about, Michael Burnham the Red Angel – then again, safer to nod.

Kirk next looked at Amanda and asked, “How many other secret children are running around this house?”

Amanda was staring at Spock, pride on her face and tears in her eyes. “This house doesn’t have any children, anymore,” she whispered. “But I have a son who’s just remembered something very important. Oh, Spock!” she exclaimed. She almost ran across the kitchen to stand at his side. “What else do you know about Michael, darling?”

“The last thing she said to me,” Spock answered, haltingly. “It was…advice. She said, ‘There is a whole galaxy out there full of people who will reach for you. Find that person who seems farthest from you, and reach for them.’ And…I did reach, correct?” He looked past Amanda to Ash. “I reached out to you over the years. I attended your wedding when you were finally finished grieving for Michael.”

“You gave us a generous wedding gift, too,” Ash confirmed. “You said you were happy I’d found my peace again.”

“And I reached to you, Jim,” Spock went on, turning to face him. “You, me, Leonard McCoy. We all reach, do we not?”

Jim took a deep breath; Ash had the impression he was choking back the millions of follow-up questions he wanted to ask. In a soft tone, he said simply, “Of course we do. We reach, Spock.”

Spock put the necklace over his head and laid the IDIC pendant against his breastbone, stroking it with something like reverence. “I’m glad we reach.”

Chapter Text

Returning to Qo’nos did not feel like a homecoming. Ash hadn’t been sure if it would, and now he knew for sure. At every street and landmark he recognized, there were new architectural details superimposed on his memories. Besides which, he thought to himself, you’re three decades older, too.

Thirty-five-and-a-half years of staying away. That wouldn’t be much for a Klingon lifespan, but it was a lot for a human. For three and a half decades, he’d kept up with events in the Klingon Empire through trips to outer worlds and other agents’ reports. He’d avoided the homeworld out of lingering fear that somebody might recognize him as the erstwhile Torchbearer and say “hey, aren’t you supposed to be dead?” He hadn’t changed that policy even after L’Rell’s time as chancellor came to an end – and since Chancellor Gorkon was the deposer of her deposer, it was unlikely that there was any real danger remaining. Still. Commanding Section 31 came with the power to assign other people to Qo’nos missions without having to explain “I won’t visit a planet where I’m supposed to be dead because I don’t like thinking about where the ghost in my brain grew up.” And Ash had used that power well.

Times change, though. Priorities shift. Empires fall. Now, he was back on Qo’nos for an extremely important mission: keeping Ambassador Spock alive long enough to negotiate a peace treaty. He’d decided to handle this personally as the only native Klingon speaker in Starfleet, as the Section 31 operative with the most experience of internal Klingon politics, and as a man who still technically had a son on Boreth. A son you don’t know is still a son, he'd decided long ago.

So, here he was, walking along a sidewalk in First City. Nobody recognized him; his hair was grey and he’d shaved his beard and it had been long enough. Or possibly, he might've admitted if asked, Klingons just think all humans look alike.

He’d gone out to a gambling hall for some discreet intelligence-gathering. He thought back to his first trip here post-choH’a’, with Tilly and Michael and Empress Georgiou, when he’d aroused so much laughter for being a human who spoke Klingon. No one had laughed at him tonight. The mood in the capital was too serious. Everyone knew the explosion of Praxis had polluted the ozone, despite official attempts to downplay the danger. It’s hard to hide the atmosphere suddenly smelling different than it used to. The gamblers had been drunker than drunk and betting wild sums, living like there was no tomorrow. He’d managed to engage several groups on the topic of making peace with the Federation, without any of them getting suspicious. Now, he was returning to the unassuming apartment building on a side street where the Vulcan embassy had arranged for Spock to stay.

He entered to find Spock waiting for him. “What have you learned?” the ambassador asked without preamble.

“I’ve learned that you have a long row to hoe,” Ash reported. At Spock’s quirked eyebrow he said, “And spare me the 'I'm just a lowly Vulcan that doesn't understand idioms' act. I’ve known you too long.”

Spock replied, “I understand that you mean a peace proposal will face opposition. However, I was hoping for more specifics from your 6.2 hours of investigation.”

Ash smiled and said, “Specifics, coming right up. But I need a cup of coffee first. Winning the life’s savings of drunken Klingons really wears me out.” To illustrate the point, he opened his coat and pulled out the huge stack of cash he’d accumulated.

One cup of coffee and two hours later, he’d successfully laid out everything he’d heard. How some Klingons would rather have peace than mass death, but others couldn’t draw a meaningful distinction between ‘peace’ and ‘surrender to the Federation.’ How many people thought Gorkon would not be long for this world (and naturally he shared the four or five names most popularly in consideration to challenge him.) How much desperation he’d seen in everyone’s eyes. He’d had to steel himself against it, truth be told. Some part of him longed to tell everyone he spoke to, “the Federation can save you. Please, let us help.”

To that last comment, Spock responded, “Perhaps it’s only natural for you to feel sympathy for those in need. I have heard it said that as logic defines Vulcan culture and honor defines Klingon culture, so compassion defines human culture.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that too,” Ash admitted. “I just didn’t think it would hit me so hard. A long time ago, I tried to tell someone that there’s no point in having compassion for Klingons when Klingons don’t have compassion for humans. I suppose until today, I thought I’d taken my own advice.” The word someone was only subtly emphasized. Ash knew the diplomatic apartment was bugged – by the Klingons and almost certainly by the Vulcans, too – so he couldn’t use Michael’s name. He hoped Spock would guess who he meant, though.

Spock let the reference pass without comment. He said only, “Returning to our main objective, how would you rate our probability of success on this mission?”

Ash took a deep breath and said, “Honestly? Slim. Any peace proposal is going to make a whole lot of people angry in the short term. And by people, you understand, I mean both Klingons and Federation citizens.”

“I anticipate as much,” Spock confirmed.

“I don’t know that either side will be able to accept it, not with such shaky foundations as ‘please help us save our planet from our own stupidity.’ Many Klingons will be humiliated by having to ask, and quite a few Federation citizens will be vindictive enough that they’ll want to say no. So, in other words, I’d put our odds of convincing at, say, 10 to 1 against. I don’t say that to be discouraging – if anyone can pull this off, it’s you – but you know there’ll be trouble.”

Spock acknowledged that readily, adding, “Possibly a great deal of trouble, though it is difficult to predict the precise shape that trouble will take.”

Ash chose his next words carefully, going with, “That being said, if the Klingon Empire truly can demilitarize and make friends with the Federation…it’s bound to make a lot of people in the future happy. And proud, and impressed, and grateful. In Klingon terms, it’ll be the type of victory to sing songs about for a thousand years.”

Spock gave one of his not-quite-smiles and said, “To put it in more human terms, it’s something I’ll dine out on the rest of my life.”

“Exactly.”

“In that case,” Spock said, “It would be wrong to let down anyone in the future. I certainly want the future to remember me fondly, when it learns of me.”

“Don’t we all,” Ash murmured. Their eyes met and understanding passed between them. “So. I guess we should get some sleep. Tomorrow, you have to do the impossible, without getting dead.”

“I have been dead before,” Spock said calmly, “Yet your suggestion of sleep is a good one.”