Title: The Express
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Jim, Leonard, and Spock meet on the way to their afterlives.
A/N: In preparation for the upcoming fuckyeahmcspirk anniversary, I have been thinking up prompts to send in for their celebratory post. By now it’s a long list of ways I want McSpirk to happen. This fic is a result of one of those prompts; the prompt struck me as needing to become a little story in its own right. :) So here you go. Enjoy!

The train makes no sound as it glides through darkness. The interior is cool and a bit lonely, comprised of enclosed compartments which house souls moving on. In one such compartment there is a face pressed to a large rectangular window, the glow of it undiminished by death.

“Are we there yet?”

“Figures,” complains the somewhat grizzled soul of a man sporting a permanent air of agitation. “I get stuck with the chatty one.”

“So I’m thinking,” the chatty one in question goes on to say, too busy straining to see something beyond the train to pay heed to the grumbling, “I should become a ghost. That sounds fun, right?”

“It’s no wonder you’re dead, kid, if you think bein’ a spook is a good idea.”

“How come we can’t see out the windows? What do you think is out there?” He receives a smack on the shoulder by an opaque hand.

“Are you even listening to me, whatever your name is?”

“Sure, I heard you. Can’t not hear you when you’re yelling in my ear, dude. But I still think being a ghost is cool stuff.”

“Idiot. We don’t suffer through life just to gladly suffer some more after it’s over.”

“My life wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, well, mine sucked ass.“

“Oh,” says the younger man, turning to appraise his companion with bright blue eyes. He sticks out a hand. “My name’s Jim.”

The hand is eyed dubiously for several seconds before it is shaken. “Leonard,” comes the gruff reply. “Leonard McCoy.”

“So, Leonard, any idea where we’re headed?”

“Hell if I know and damned if I care.”

Jim chuckles. “Be careful what you wish for. We might actually be damned.”

“Funny, Jim. I’ll have you know I was saint before the cancer got me.”

“Oh,” Jim says again, his expression sobering. “That does suck. I’m sorry.”

Leonard shrugs almost carelessly. “Wasn’t the best way to go.” He glances sidelong at Jim. “What about you?”

“Motorcycle accident,” Jim offers cheerily. “Over just like that.” He snaps his fingers to make his point. “To be fair, I was only doing fifteen over the speed limit.”

“God,” mutters his companion, “you are dumb.”

“Actually I’m top of my senior class—or was. Would have been Valedictorian.”

“Jesus Christ. I knew you looked young, but…” Leonard trails off, awkwardly fixing his stare on a spot that is not near Jim’s face.

The kid murmurs, “I know. It’s a tragedy.”

They don’t speak for a while after that, looking at their hands or their feet or the unadorned walls of the train cabin. Then suddenly Jim gives Leonard a slight nudge with his elbow and tips his head at the corner farthest from them. He seems to be saying, What’s that deal?

Leonard crosses his arms. “Hey, you,” he calls to the third soul sharing their compartment, “it’s rude to pretend we’re not here!”

Jim pats Leonard’s thigh. “He doesn’t mean it like that,” Jim says to the quiet soul, seeking to soften the statement. “He just wants to know your name.”

“I sure did mean it! I—”

“Leonard,” Jim intercedes, voice still friendly, “calm down.”

“You are not the adult here, Jim.”

Jim’s eyes twinkle. “I really doubt age matters at this point.”

“Brat,” Leonard names him.

“Old man.”

The corners of Leonard’s mouth twitch rebelliously upward. “I thought you said age didn’t matter.”

Their impromptu bickering has the desired effect. The man in the corner is sitting up a little straighter, observing them with a hint of interest in his eyes.

Jim hops across to the other booth seat and offers his hand in introduction. “Hi, I’m Jim.”

The man shakes it politely. “I am Spock.”

“Weird name.”

“Goes with his weird pointy ears,” retorts Leonard as he shoos Spock out of the corner and squeezes in between Spock and the wall. “Nice to meet you, Spock. I’d ask what brings you to this neck of the woods but we’ve all got that bit figured out.”

Spock’s expression grows shuttered, his tone turns bland. “I suppose you are correct.”

Jim lifts his hands in a conciliatory manner. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell us what happened. We won’t pry.”

Spock takes a moment to study the seating opposite him, empty as it now is, before seeming to gather his thoughts. “I do not fault you for your curiosity, Jim. I merely believe I am… not meant to be here.”

A few seconds tick by in silence until Jim places a sympathetic hand on Spock’s shoulder. “Everybody thinks that at first.”

There comes a soft huff from Leonard. “Yeah, so you’re dead. Get over it.”

Spock shakes his head. “You misunderstand my concern. My ancestors do not travel to your land for the dead. Their katras—roughly the equivalent of your human souls—are preserved in a special void. I am—” Here Spock ceases to speak, his mouth pressing thin.

“What?” Jim encourages with innocent curiosity. “What are you?”

“I am a half-breed,” the man admits. His head bows slightly. “Perhaps that is why I am here and not where I expected I would be. It is… most unfortunate. I doubt there is another of my kind who has traveled this path.”

Jim and Leonard exchange a look over Spock’s head, as if they’ve known each other far longer than the time it takes to exchange names on an afterlife express. Jim leans into Spock from one side as Leonard does from the other. The result is more corporeal than one would expect with the touching of souls.

From between Jim and Leonard, Spock lifts his head, brightening with their shared energy.

“Maybe I’ll reconsider being a ghost,” Jim says. “I have time.”

“We all do,” agrees Leonard. “Mind if we stick with you awhile, Spock?”

“I would like that,” he replies solemnly.

“Excellent!” is Jim’s declaration. “So what do you think souls do on the other side? Do we get to explore? Can we party? Who’s in charge?”

“Dear god,” Leonard mutters.

“If there’s a God, I want to meet him,” Jim decides.

“Not what I meant, kid.”

“You’re crabby. I think you deserve a nickname.”

“Somebody kill me now. I’m not opposed to dying a second time if it means I can get away from Jim.”

“Leonard, I do not think it is possible to die again.”

“That was a joke. Christ, Spock, don’t tell me you don’t know what a joke is!”

“Ho boy,” remarks Jim, dragging Spock by one arm and Leonard by the other—his new friends—back to the window, “I can tell you two are going to get along great. Hey, I think we should open this window.”

The resounding no, Jim surprises no one, least of all the Higher Power in charge of the seating arrangements who might be eavesdropping. Some things, the universe knows, are simply fate.

-Fini

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