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I watch, standing carefully away from the others, as these men who are, yet are not, my old friends receive the recognition they deserve. James T. Kirk has his ship, and the Enterprise has her crew. This, Nero did not manage to change and I am... relieved. Even as I keep to the shadows James finds me. This time, however, there is no subtle touch of a bond to guide him to my side, only the skill of one truly aware of his surroundings. I step from the shadows to greet *them*, for where James is McCoy is never far behind; this has not changed between the universes. I school myself to Vulcan calm as the doctor studies me intently, attempting to puzzle out why a stranger seems so familiar. James' playful smile and subtle headshake keeps me from revealing my secret too quickly.
If I had entertained any doubt as to whether I had slipped universes or simply been temporally shifted within my own, I would only have to see these two men to know.
Jim's golden brown eyes look back at me with an achingly familiar, world-weary gaze. Leonard's humor and intelligence still shines from their depths; yet the clear blue I associated with my Leonard now looks back at me from James' handsome face. These are not the only subtleties that distinguish these men from those I knew. Jim's confidence and poise radiates from McCoy's more solid frame, while the insecurity and vulnerability that my Leonard covered with sharp wit and misdirection rests, well hidden, inside James' easy devil-may-care recklessness and bravado. It is as if my bond mates had been merged and reformed, each receiving a part of the other to hold safe in this new and unfamiliar universe. It is a fanciful notion, but one I feel Leonard would have approved of. They are already bound to one another, perhaps even more strongly than my Jim and Leonard were. I believe it will serve them well, even as I wonder what that closeness will mean for the younger version of myself.
I can tell the moment McCoy's quicksilver mind deduces who I am: his eyes first narrow, then widen and he looks from me to James and back again.
"I'll be damned." The familiar Georgian accent sends a carefully hidden wave of nostalgia through me. In this, he is my Leonard - all 'old country doctor' charm and slightly thicker accent, true proof of his surprise at the revelation. "It's an honor to meet you, *Ambassador* Spock."
That is all that is said on the subject of my identity. No questions, no demands for answers, just simple acceptance with an achingly familiar smile. Though I have no doubt I will be receiving communications from this man in the future as he struggles to deal with my younger, alternate self. I allow myself a shadow of a smile as James' laughter surrounds us and he slaps McCoy good-naturedly on the back, teasing the doctor. I listen to the banter between them and illogically ache for what is not.
They are, yet are not, my Jim and Leonard. The light that Leonard often spoke of when describing the bond between we three shines from them, beckoning to me in my solitude. Yet, Jim's golden assurance and Leonard's blue and silver strength no longer twine with my own rust red essence; and I feel the ache like the loss of a limb – the loss of part of that which made me who I am.
Even had I not slipped universes I would know this loss: Jim and Leonard were gone long before my failed folly, before the sun went nova and cost two worlds more than anyone expected. Faced now with their younger versions, alive and vibrant before me, I feel their loss as keenly as if it had happened only yesterday. These are not the spirits I knew, yet they call to me with their aching familiarity, the subtle differences only adding to the gravitational pull they unknowingly exert upon me.
Brown eyes study me intently, even as James says his farewells. I offer him the traditional salute, wishing him a long and prosperous life. He smiles a painfully familiar smile and leaves me alone with he who is *not* my heart, the carrier of my katra, my most precious t'hyla. I raise a questioning eyebrow, hoping McCoy is not as adept at reading the subtle nuances of Vulcan expressions as Leonard was.
"We were important to you in your timeline."
I should have remembered Leonard's belief in the Universe's sense of humor. "You were."
He studies me again, the concern reflected in the golden-brown depths is familiar. "How important?" he finally asks, his eyes intent on my face.
"It is unimportant."
"Like hell it is."
The sharp, knowing tone brings forth the rare half-smile that Leonard always strove for and it appears to have the same effect on McCoy as it did on my bond-mate.
"I'll be damned. You lot can smile," he teases lightly. The sharp eyes narrow, taking in my features. "We, the *other* we." He growls in frustration. "God but temporal theory makes my damn head hurt. *Your* Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy… they helped you find a measure of peace in your own stubborn skin?"
I nod, not trusting my voice as memories flow of all they had taught me about myself and the universe.
He nods distractedly in return. "Good. Good."
I am unprepared when he steps forward, moving into my body space. He smells of antiseptic and medicinal cleaners and underneath is the faintest trace of familiar human musk. I close my eyes against the assault to my senses. This is not my Leonard. This is not the man who cradled me safe within his mind, and who climbed the steps of Mt. Seleya, risking everything that he was, to bring me back. This is not my t'hyla, my passionate lover and bond mate who taught me that there was no shame in 'feeling'.
The cool fingers that brush against my hand send a shiver of sensation through me; I struggle to control it even as my mind reaches out for what once was but is now lost. I wrench myself away from his touch…or, that is my intent. I find myself unable to move, unable to break the tenuous connection that flares between us. He inhales sharply but does not pull away. Images, sensations... feelings, slide unbidden through the skewed link that is and is not the bond I once shared with my Leonard. It only lasts a handful of heartbeats, and then, almost reluctantly, McCoy draws away.
"Forgive me," I begin to say, only to be overridden.
"I grieve with thee."
His voice is rough, emotion choked. I risk a look into the unfamiliar eyes, now damp with unshed tears.
"They have been gone a long time," I reassure.
"Doesn't make the hurt any less," he counters. "They were very lucky men."
"It is I who was... lucky," I offer softly, acknowledging his praise on their behalf. "This universe is not mine. That which was, may not necessarily be..."
"Doesn't mean it won't be, either," he countered. "Though our 'you' seems awfully smitten with Nyota," he said with a grin. His humor shifts, sliding to honest concern. "Now, I know I ain't your Len, but I've been working pretty closely with the refugees and those who've lost bond mates in... this," he makes a gesture obviously intended to include the universe in general. "If you ever need..."
"Thank you, Doctor," I say evenly, "but my loss was long ago. I have moved beyond that pain." Not perhaps the truth but...
"And they told us that Vulcans couldn't lie," he interrupts again, his amusement clear in his wry tone.
He is more like my Leonard than I originally believed. "I do not understand your meaning, Doctor."
He chuckles. "The hell you don't." He points in the direction James had gone. "That young man that just left? I've spent damn near every waking moment, and some not so awake moments, the last three and a half years keeping track of that trouble maker." The affection he has for James is apparent even in his censuring tone. "If I can't see through an obfuscation by now, no matter how skillfully delivered, then I should pack up my shingle and head for the nearest farming colony - because I'm not gonna be worth a tinker's damn on-board a starship dealing with a young, gung-ho command crew, let alone the two most infuriating and reckless officers in this person's Fleet."
The too knowing eyes are locked on my face and I know that he will take nothing less than the truth. "I grieve for what was," I admit reluctantly. "But that grief does not change the facts. They were gone long before Nero's actions and my own arrogance brought me here."
"Wasn't arrogance," he counters, "just bad timing. You did what you could for those people, Ambassador, but even you, for all your Vulcan pig-headedness, can't control *everything* in the universe." He scowls at me, shaking a finger in my face. "And stop trying to change the subject 'cause it ain't gonna work. You're hurting as much as our Spock if not more. *Our* Spock at least has his father to lean on. You've lost not only a planet, but an entire life, while being thrown willy-nilly into a universe that's almost but not quite yours." His hand reaches out for me once more, stopping just before he touches my skin. "That would be enough to set anyone on edge," he offers gently.
I swallow and resist the urge to reach out to him, to seek the cool, illogical, chaotic mind that was lost to me but lives again in this remarkably adept man. "I have a duty."
The hand finally closes over mine and I close my eyes against the wave of acceptance and concern flowing unimpeded from his mind to mine. "You have a right to mourn. You have the right to look for someone to fill the hole tearing apart your soul. No shame in not wanting to be alone."
I can tell he speaks as much to his own plight as to mine.
"No," I acknowledge. "There is not."
He continues to study my face and I remain passive under his scrutiny.
He chuckles, shaking his head. "Remind me never to play poker with you, Ambassador." His smile and tone are touched with the same affection they held when speaking of James.
I nod in acknowledgement of the good-natured barb, offering him another half-smile. "I shall endeavor to content myself with chess games then, doctor." The familiar retort, one I had exchanged with both Jim and Leonard so many times over our long association, falls from my lips without thought. His confusion shows in his expressive face, and darts across the link, a faint echo answered by my own embarrassment. "Forgive me, Doctor McCoy." I reluctantly draw away from his touch and dampen the link inadvertently forged between us.
"Nothing to forgive, sir." His voice is thick with emotion, the accent heavy. "Seems I should be apologizing to you. I know such connections are a highly private thing and I've overstepped that boundary in my desire to help. I didn't mean to intrude on such... intimate memories."
It takes me a moment to understand his comment. When I do, I fear my cheeks heat at the lack of control. Before I can offer yet another apology McCoy smiles at me and shakes his head.
"Look," he begins slowly, his southern 'drawl' as thick as when he... as when *Leonard* had been startled by some new revelation about me. "I know I ain't your Leonard, any more than my Jim is your Jim Kirk. But, if you ever find yourself missing a Georgian accent or start feeling masochistic enough to teach an old country doc a thing or two about 3D Chess," he shifts so he's looking into my eyes, "I'd be honored to hear from ya."
The offer stuns me. I had never expected... "You need not." The growl that interrupts me is pure Leonard.
"I know I don't, ya damned point-eared hobgoblin!" He scowls at me. "Look," he scrubs a hand over his face, another gesture that is purely Leonard. "We're headed out into the blackness of space in a new ship, with a crew heavy on cadets and short on experience, not that they haven't proven themselves in combat, mind you, but... well. Honestly, it scares the hell out of me. But I can't let it show, because too many people are relying on me to keep my cool when it matters. Jim's damn young and cocky. Spock's struggling to prove... *Something*. Scotty's spent too much time alone on that base they exiled him too. And Chekov is *SEVENTEEN*!"
His laugh is mirthless. "And I'm a worried about screwing this up. Knowing there's someone out there who's not... relying on me." He shrugs, then looks back over his shoulder to where James is talking. "Jim and I, I don't know what the hell we are beyond a young man with daddy issues and a damned fool who should know better. And while I'm not saying this... whatever will become anything beyond an odd friendship, it'd be nice to know there's somewhere I can just be... Len, and have that be enough."
His cheeks flush and even without the link I can feel his embarrassment. "I would be honored to be such a place for you," I answer honestly, stunned by the generous, and completely Leonard-like, offer. "And perhaps," I add, "I could provide the occasional insight into how to deal with the 'two most infuriating and reckless officers in this person's Fleet'."
His laughter is deep and rich as it spills from his lips and over my weary spirit. No, he is not my Leonard, and I find I do not wish him to be. He is Len McCoy, chief medical officer of this new Enterprise and t'hyla of James T. Kirk, whether either of them are aware of it or not. And while he may not be Leonard McCoy, t'hyla of Spock sa Sarek and Jim Kirk, I have the... feeling, he will be just what the doctor ordered.
~ ~ ~ end ~ ~ ~