Masters of Fate (3/4)

Title: Masters of Fate (3/4)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Long ago, Kirk and McCoy were given a chance to glimpse the red string of fate connecting them. Lately, they have been wondering if what they saw might not be the full picture.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2

Sorry for the long wait! More Besties Kirk and McCoy, and some fluffing up the present dilemma with additional backstory!

Doctor McCoy spills into Sickbay like a tempest, looking rumpled and wild as if he had thrown on his uniform in haste. Chapel had probably woken him up with the news.

Most of Sickbay’s staff know not to make eye contact with the fuming man, busying themselves with anything close to hand as he sweeps past. The nurses near the occupied biobeds calmly and expertly soothe the patients’ nerves, some of them coaxing softly, “Shh, there you go, close your eyes,” so that they know the storm passing through is not meant for them. More experienced patients are already pretending to be unconscious without anyone’s guidance.

As quickly and flashily as McCoy descended upon the general ward, he barrels into the corridor beyond, heading unmistakable.

One nurse leans sideways to murmur to their junior-most assistant, a newly graduated ensign, “Captain Kirk is being examined at the end of the hall.”

“Is he in danger?” the ensign asks with widening eyes.

“Our captain courts all sorts of danger,” she replies with a thin smile. “Some can be very educational.” She then ushers the confused assistant along to his next task.

The assistant will one day understand what his more knowledgeable superior has offered is both an explanation and a warning. Everyone knows Kirk sustained an injury on the last completed mission, less than a week ago now, but it is a badly timed sparring session in the ship’s gymnasium that has contributed the most to today’s danger. Simply put, Kirk is a victim of his own making. But lucky for him, what’s headed his way has no intention of killing him. The crew can only hope the face-off will finally inspire Jim Kirk to think twice before deciding to disregard his doctor’s orders.

Tension climbs once more through the ward as the Sickbay doors draw back for another arrival, who moves at a more sedate pace than McCoy had. His heading is clearly the same, and no one seeks to waylay him.

Rumor has it Mr. Spock had the misfortune of being in attendance during the captain’s hand-to-hand combat session with his Chief of Security. If Kirk’s viewpoint of “I can handle a few punches!” is a bluff his second-in-command is willing to accept, then Doctor McCoy undoubtedly has just as many strong words for Mr. Spock as he does for the ship’s commanding officer.

Spock arrives at the last exam room visible at the bend of the corridor. When the door peels back, he momentarily freezes there as McCoy’s voice rings as clear as a bell across Sickbay, pitched to an ear-splitting decibel even for a human, never mind a Vulcan’s hearing. Kirk can be seen perched on a table’s edge, stiff with embarrassment and cradling the elbow of his re-injured arm while the head nurse offers the doctor a freshly charged bone regenerator.

“Doctor,” Mr. Spock begins with unexpected hesitation, once McCoy has snapped an angry gaze his way and bitten off a shout, “you wished to see me?”

“Get in here,” growls the doctor. “Look at him! Of all the times to set aside your blasted Vulcan logic, Mr. Spock—!”

The door seals again.

For some time, the cool air of the ward seems to echo with the intensity of McCoy’s voice. Patients and staff alike do their best to shake off the sensation. For many, it’s just another day in Sickbay.

~~~
“Bones.”

“Take your medicine,” McCoy reminds his patient gruffly, still hidden around the partition between the main cabin and Kirk’s bedroom.

“Bones,” Jim tries again, having already dutifully taken his hypospray and now feeling a bit floaty as he turns his head on his pillow toward the sound of McCoy’s voice. “You’re not still upset?”

Finally, the doctor’s face appears in his periphery. A snapped “What do you care?” leaves Kirk wincing.

“Ah, Bones,” he murmurs.

McCoy comes into his full view then, leaning over Jim’s prone figure upon the bed before eyeing the empty cartridge on the bedside table.

Kirk closes his eyes and soon is comforted by the covers being drawn up to his chest and tucked tightly around him. The warm cocoon hints he may be forgiven. “I could promise not to do it again,” he offers, just to be certain.

“Don’t make promises you won’t keep.”

“I’ll keep it if you promise not to be angry anymore.” Jim sighs, part of him realizing it is far too easy to speak his mind while his mind is so fuzzy. “What you said earlier, it’s not true. I do care about myself. I care about you too.”

Silence lingers until a hand settles against Kirk’s chest. “I know you care. Jim… You are listening this time? I know how you hate the thought of being physically incapacitated, even for a few hours, but that doesn’t mean you should push yourself just to prove you can.”

Jim can admit when there are no other listening ears around except his best friend’s, “I made a mistake.”

“It’s my fault too,” McCoy remarks softly. “I should improve my bedside manner.”

The huff from McCoy sounds a little too melancholic for Jim’s liking. He forces his eyes to open and curls his hand around the doctor’s where it is pressed over his ribcage. “Don’t change. I like your bedside manner.”

“No one likes it,” refutes McCoy, but an understanding is heavy in his gaze. “Fine, I won’t change it. That’s my promise to you.”

Satisfied, Jim squeezes his friend’s hand and drifts to sleep, for a long while aware of McCoy still near him, holding on.

~~~
The return to normalcy always seems effortless. That Leonard McCoy can be fuming mad with Jim Kirk one day, then sharing a joke with him the next is simply part and parcel of how their relationship operates. But falling back into the familiarity of their camaraderie does not assuage what remains of Leonard’s anxiety. He finds himself mulling over one question again and again, not complex at its core yet daunting all the same.

He asks himself a variation of what if…?

Despite frequently chastising Jim for his nose for trouble (never mind that Jim isn’t nearly so impulsive now in his thirties as he was a decade ago), McCoy understands the man well enough. That ability to act on instinct, even if the result may appear reckless or confusing to others, is one of Jim’s best qualities, and gives him an edge over his peers and most older commanders and is why he is one of Starfleet’s most decorated officers. Kirk’s quick thinking often unearths a solution to a problem few would dare to try, and somehow Jim has the talent (or luck, Leonard likes to call it) to make his unorthodox solutions work.

But what if the day comes that that lucky streak ends?

Neither of them is a stranger to personal loss, but for Leonard, the thought of Jim someday trying that long shot in the dark and never coming out the other side is terrifying.

How far will a red string of fate stretch? Not likely beyond death.

Jim risks taking Leonard over that edge too. And it’s not like Leonard, who has spent the past several years following loyally as the man trailblazes ahead, might be able to stop himself from going along to his own doom.

Whether or not that would be a physical death is irrelevant. As some wounds can surely be fatal, for Leonard, Jim’s death would be.

Who is Leonard McCoy without Jim Kirk? Leonard barely remembers and has no desire to find out.

In the end, Kirk and McCoy chose this friendship for themselves (and regardless of what any soothsayer-half-god might have said). In the end, they are as entangled as any real string could bind them.

Seated across from Jim as usual during a shared meal, Leonard asks of the other man solemnly, “Do you ever wonder how things would be different if we hadn’t been assigned to the same expedition?”

Jim finishes another bite of food, not to take his time in replying, it appears, but to project just how confident he is of the answer. “Right here.”

Kirk’s matter-of-fact tone soothes McCoy’s anxiety somewhat. “You’re so sure, huh?”

A noise bubbles out of Kirk, then, a not-quite laugh but the sound devoid of uncertainty. “How does one define fate?”

“Heck if I know!”

“Fate, Bones,” Jim explains, “means it doesn’t matter whether or not our paths crossed on that planet, at that time. We would have met sooner or later.” He gesticulates with his fork, encompassing more than the officers’ mess hall around them. “So here we would be. You and me and this ship.”

Of course Jim naturally includes the Enterprise in their fate, thinks Leonard with mild annoyance. Jim and this ship… “A match made in heaven,” he grumps.

Jim aims a smile at his food.

McCoy uses the moment of inattention to inch his spoon closer toward his friend’s untouched mashed potatoes. “You just like to think that you’ll always have your way.”

Kirk is looking at him again, and at first it seems that he might take the bait. But the man sits back, states, “You’re might be right,” and chuckles over it. Then Jim explains after Leonard rolls his eyes at him, “Though it’s not always about wanting my way, Bones. Only that I want the best.” He winks at his dinner companion. “And you’re the best.”

Leonard purses his mouth, secretly mollified but not willing to give that way just yet. “Charmer,” he complains. “Are you going to finish that?”

Jim kindly transfers the coveted mashed potatoes to Leonard’s plate, and they enjoy the rest of their meal.

~~~
The admiral on the viewscreen wraps up his explanation of their latest mission with a “Good luck, Enterprise,” and as the channel closes, McCoy is more than glad the admiral isn’t privy to the grimaces and mutters racing across the briefing room. He issues a soft curse before twisting in his chair to face the one man he would choose to obey with or without protocol.

Jim had remained silent while Command delivered their orders, not even offering an unhappy acknowledgment before the admiral signed off. Kirk’s face has turned stonier than the expertly blank visage of their ship’s residence Vulcan, and that alone sends a chill down McCoy’s spine.

Eventually everyone is watching Kirk, having composed themselves into a picture-perfect scene of obedient officers awaiting orders.

Jim meets Leonard’s gaze first, just briefly, before shifting to take in each person sitting or standing around the table, assessing their reactions perhaps better than they can determine his. Jim has always been particularly sensitive to the mood of his crew.

“Mr. Spock,” the captain finally breaks the silence, “how long can we feasibly delay our arrival to Vega IX?”

“No more than three solar days.”

Leonard can see where Jim’s line of thinking is headed and feels apprehensive. “You heard the admiral, Jim. If we’re late even by a parsec to the summit, the Vegans on the council will have their excuse to say the Federation doesn’t pay them the respect they deserve and cut ties.”

“I am aware of that.”

Leonard presses his mouth to a thin, unhappy line. “I want to help Rigel IV as much as anyone. And I can. My staff can. We are equipped to combat this virus, Jim. But I just don’t like the idea that it could cost someone else’s century-long efforts to make the peace treaty with Vega XI.”

This happens at times, being stuck between a rock and a hard place, and each time Leonard never feels ready for it—especially the part where someone has to decide who wins and who loses. Only death is something Leonard feels capable of wrestling with when a patient is in his care because it’s clear-cut enough that his job is not to let death win. He may not always succeed, but as a doctor, he knows it isn’t wrong to put up a fight for his patient’s life.

The ship’s captain operates on a grander scale. His choices can mean life or death for entire civilizations. There’s a reason why regulations are not supposed to be up for interpretation so that their guidance remains unquestionable in the face of a morally ambiguous decision. Follow the rules, and you can be certain you did the right thing regardless of the outcome of whoever’s life was weighed in the balance.

But Jim, for all that he does care about following rules, wants to save everyone. And if a regulation puts Leonard’s captain at odds with that desire, he will find a way to bend it.

Leonard admires that tenacity in Jim. He also worries that one day Jim will break the rules rather than bend them, and the consequences will end his career in Starfleet.

Will Leonard be able to stand with him when that happens? The doctor simply doesn’t know.

“Bones,” calls Kirk, drawing Leonard’s attention back to their rather untenable situation.

“Captain,” he acknowledges.

“Prepare a staff roster for departure to Rigel IV.”

Leonard says nothing for a moment. Then, only, “You’re sure?”

Jim nods once, and most of the tension in the room dissipates. This crew, at least, believes their captain cannot steer them wrong.

“Mr. Spock,” Jim goes on, facing the commander, “has the USS Mercurio reached the Rigel system yet?”

“Not for estimated thirty-eight hours at their current speed.” Spock raises an eyebrow. “However, Captain, I would remind you the Mercurio would not be considered a suitable replacement for the flagship at the Vega XI summit.”

Jim smiles slightly. “I agree, they wouldn’t. We will be at that summit.” Then he looks to McCoy.

Leonard is ahead of him, trying to replace a pleased smile that the others might not understand with his customary scowl. “The Mercurio doesn’t have our updated tech.” It’s not as bad as that, for any Constellation-class vessel, but Leonard has the right to be dramatic on occasion. “They’ll just get underfoot.”

“Her captain owes me a favor, and someone does need to watch over the best medical officers in Starfleet,” Jim remarks mildly.

Leonard is pleased by that, which is Jim’s indirect way of saying he trusts their nurses and doctors to handle the viral outbreak on Rigel IV on their own. Having the Mercurio around is simply stacking the deck in their favor.

But McCoy does feel obligated to mention one thing. “You shouldn’t fly all the way to the Vega system without a CMO. You can trade me out to the Mercurio.”

“I will have to, Doctor, but only as a temporary measure,” Kirk agrees.

That settled, McCoy pushes away from the conference table. “Guess I’ll get started on the roster.”

He feels Jim’s gaze track him through the door, even as the captain issues orders to the others left in the briefing room.

~~~
“Dr. McCoy, I request a moment of your time.”

Leonard McCoy sets down his stylus upon those words, already intrigued by the person at his office door but not finding it unexpected after yesterday’s briefing. “Come in, Mr. Spock. I was just making sure the house is in order before our rendezvous with the Mercurio.” He places the data padd with his ever-increasing list of tasks aside. “Something on your mind?” A thought occurs to McCoy then, and he starts to rise from behind his desk as the door slides closed behind the Vulcan. “Don’t tell me Jim changed his mind?”

“Negative, Doctor.” Spock comes toward him in a cool manner. “The matter I wish to address is personal, not ship’s business.”

McCoy returns to his chair with a graceless thump. Retrieving his stylus, he taps it between his fingers to disguise his nerves. “All right. Take a seat.”

The Vulcan locks his hands behind his back. “I prefer to stand.”

He raises his eyebrow. “And I prefer not to be looked down upon when discussing personal matters.”

Spock raises an eyebrow to mirror the doctor’s but complies.

To his chagrin, McCoy isn’t able to completely dispel the formal air between them despite his desire to. He sighs and places the stylus aside, folding his hands on top of his desk. “All right. I’m listening.”

This is the first time Spock has stepped into his office unprompted and not for ship’s business. Sensing the best course of action is to remain polite, he wants Spock to understand that he can take this unexpected but welcome show of trust seriously. He’s honored, actually, by it but Spock doesn’t ever need to know that part.

“Doctor, I…” Spock begins, only to pause rather uncharacteristically. “I would care to hear your definition of friendship.”

Leonard stares, needing some seconds before he can find his tongue. He had assumed ‘personal’ still meant at least the subject would be medical in nature. This is indeed extremely unexpected.

He leans forward slightly, curious. “Most cultures define friendship as a social relationship with an emotional component.”

“And your personal definition?” the Vulcan presses.

“It’s an emotional bond between individuals which is cultivated to be mutually beneficial.” He purses his mouth faintly. “To be less technical about it… you could call friendship an arrangement that satisfies two people in a healthy way. Some people become friends over a singular common interest. Others share a mutual desire to be more deeply involved in each other’s lives. Generally, a friendship is founded on trust, respect, and caring.” He considers the Vulcan for a brief moment. “Would you like an example?”

“Affirmative.”

“Nurse Chapel and Dr. M’Benga quickly became friends when M’Benga transferred here. Their first common interest was me.” He suppresses a smile. “Or to be more precise, the fact that I am often a challenging boss to handle. They probably have other common interests by now.” He still likes to secretly pat himself on the back for being the initial reason Chapel and M’Benga took well to each other.

“Then, Dr. McCoy, you and I also share a common interest.”

Leonard chokes on a laugh. “I would argue, as captain of the ship, Jim is everybody’s common interest.”

Spock’s eyebrow lifts towards his hairline again. “I am told it is logical for individuals to learn to care for each other while caring together for someone else.”

That sounds like something a mother would say. One day, Leonard thinks, he would like to meet Spock’s human mother and ask exactly what kind of advice she gives her Vulcan son.

He settles on, “Yes, that sounds logical, Mr. Spock.”

“I am pleased you agree, Doctor.” Spock surprises McCoy by rising from his chair. “Thank you for your insight. I will give it thought.”

“Anytime.” It feels only polite to walk Spock to the office door.

Leonard lingers in the doorway to watch the Vulcan until he turns exits the corridor. Afterward, bemused, the doctor returns to preparing for the much-needed triage on Rigel IV.

~~~
Very rarely can Leonard keep a secret from Jim, and he never tries to when that secret is coupled with a concern involving one of the crew. Sharing these concerns, however large or small, is part of why Kirk and McCoy can place such great trust in each other.

“Jim, have you noticed anything odd about your first officer recently?”

“Spock?” Jim’s fingers falter over the screen of his data padd as his gaze finds McCoy’s. “What’s going on?”

“He asked me an odd question. Well,” Leonard qualifies, “odd for him.” Because after some careful thinking, Leonard believes it wasn’t merely asked out of curiosity. But he still hasn’t figured out why.

Jim continues looking at him.

“He wanted to know what makes two people friends.”

Kirk’s gaze returns to the report he had been skimming. After a short silence, he asks Leonard, “Do you think Mr. Spock would be interested in friendship with someone?”

Leonard rolls his eyes and harrumphs. “How should I know? I’m the closest we have to a ship’s counselor since Dr. Noel left, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.” Ironically, he thinks, that is Spock’s forte, and Spock is the one who appears unable to figure out his own mind. Leonard almost pities him.

“Maybe it’s you.”

“Me, what?” McCoy repeats, frowning. Kirk’s meaning hits him a second later. “Jim!”

Jim grins at his padd’s screen, still not looking at his friend.

“That’s not funny,” Leonard tuts. “Spock once said I have the personality of a targ.”

Jim’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

Leonard kicks petulantly at his friend’s chair. “Why aren’t you offended on my behalf? That’s as good as saying you’re friends with a Klingon monster dog!”

“Bones, stop,” Jim begs, laughing in earnest now. “I have to finish this, please.” He waits until Leonard settles to add cheekily, “I think you should be friends with Spock.”

When Leonard can’t do more than sputter in embarrassment, he decisively kicks Jim’s chair again.

Jim nods knowingly while scooting his chair out of Leonard’s range. “Consider his offer.”

“What offer! You’re out of your mind!”

“I’m serious, Bones. Think about it.”

“Maybe I’ll trade you for him. At least he’s rational!” Leonard grouses, because being ornery is easier than admitting he might think about it later.

Kirk just smiles the doctor’s way and returns to his paperwork.

~~~
After Engineer Scott relays their two shuttlecraft have departed for the surface of Rigel IV, loaded with medical supplies and the ship’s best doctors, Jim Kirk smooths his expression and nods to the technician on standby. Within seconds, the figure of a man appears on the transporter pad.

Kirk offers a hand to the newcomer, who shakes it with a firm grip. “I’m Captain Kirk of the Enterprise. Welcome aboard, Dr. Kelarr. And thank you for agreeing to such a short-notice exchange.”

“Of course, Captain, it was no trouble,” Kelarr assures him. “I admit I am eager to see your medical bay. Dr. McCoy sent over the specs for my review—what an opportunity, I must say!”

Nurse Chapel steps around Mr. Spock and introduces herself to McCoy’s replacement and her temporary boss. Kirk waves the pair off, trusting Chapel to have the doctor settled in his quarters and shown around Sickbay to his satisfaction.

Finally in the corridor and alone but for Spock, Jim sighs. He misses McCoy already.

With his second-in-command falling into step, Jim leads the way to the Ready Room attached to the main bridge. There, they seclude themselves to finish the itinerary for Vega XI, Jim working at the table and Spock standing by his shoulder, padd in hand.

“Something to say, Mr. Spock?” he asks when the pair reaches a natural close to their planning. The Enterprise is a few light-years from the Rigel system by now, and yet Jim never feels quite right about leaving any officer behind, even under these circumstances. Judging from Spock’s watchful stare, Jim knows he isn’t hiding his turmoil well.

Spock places his data padd by the captain’s elbow in order to lock his hands behind his back. “Sir, you are aware it may not be acceptable to Starfleet Command that Dr. McCoy is not present for the summit, and yet you accept risking their ire.”

Oh yes, the Admiralty can be stuffy about such particulars. “McCoy’s talents are better served on Rigel IV than at a diplomat’s table.”

“Obviously,” Spock intones, and Jim chuckles at the implication. Everyone knows Leonard McCoy is made for his medical scrubs, not the formal dress uniform of high-ranked officer and most especially not the ceremony and polite manners that must accompany it.

Jim hesitates a moment, then throws McCoy under the proverbial bus. “He would have moped about Rigel IV all the way to the Vega system. Calling him off a medical crisis is tantamount to ordering him to ignore his Hippocratic oath. I had to let him go.”

Jim has been learning to interpret Spock’s silence, but this particular silence for some reason makes him uneasy. “Do you disagree with my decision?” And why didn’t you say something before now?

“Given your explanation, it is not totally illogical,” says Spock. “But I have observed your approach in managing Dr. McCoy can be unorthodox.”

His first officer is basically saying Jim doesn’t actually manage Leonard at all, not in the fashion of a true superior-to-junior relationship.

And that’s true.

It is Kirk’s turn to fall quiet and allow for a loaded silence. Anything he says will damn him, whether or not Mr. Spock seeks to condemn him based on his response.

Then again, Spock has never been one to quickly judge a person too harshly without first collecting all the facts, let alone condemn anyone.

He is almost relieved when Spock eventually prompts him to act by inquiring mildly, “If that is all, Sir?”

Jim huffs quietly. “Very well, Mr. Spock.” He determines Spock is not uncomfortable, or even wary, and pushes on to admit, “McCoy and I are close—unusually so. You perceive that.” Everyone does, he suspects. “But, on my honor, it isn’t of an inappropriate nature.”

“I did not think otherwise,” Spock assures him.

Kirk narrows his gaze slightly. “Then why bring it up?”

The officer’s inability to respond right away is telling to Jim, even if Spock doesn’t know it yet. He takes pity on the Vulcan, rather than waiting him out for an answer remarking instead, “Do Vulcans believe in fate, Mr. Spock?”

Spock raises an eyebrow, understanding that the question is rhetorical.

Jim says, “Personally I have always chafed at the thought that some aspect of my life might be predetermined. McCoy is the same, which is why we rarely speak of how we came to be so close in a serious context. I think we care enough about each other that the possibility we might not have the same kind of relationship today if not for the unusual circumstances back then… it’s too painful to consider. I guess what I’m trying to say is: I don’t consider myself subject to fate, but I respect the power of the ideology. McCoy became important to me because someone else was convinced that was the way it should be, and honestly I can’t say I regret going along with it. Bones is worth it.”

Spock may or may understand what Jim is trying to tell him since he doesn’t react to that last remark. But Spock does say, “And the unusual circumstances you speak of, Jim?”

Jim nods, gesturing at Spock to seat himself at the small conference table between them. “It’s a strange story, and it starts with a mission.” Seeing how attentively his first officer is listening, Kirk relaxes into his own chair, crosses one leg over the other and launches into a tale that, the two men will agree later on, is as equally fantastical as it is fascinating.

~~~
Most first meetings are not as adventurous or life-changing as Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy’s. This is why a simple explanation never quite hits well with the audience. One has to settle in for the telling and be prepared to be engaged, which is an easy enough task when the storyteller is masterful and experienced. Jim Kirk dons that role very well, like an old beloved cloak.

The story begins with a sandstorm on a Class M planet being assessed for potential colonization. While up to now the infrequent storms rolling through have caused no injuries to any of the recently arrived personnel, the base camp’s tactical and research equipment have either been made useless or difficult to reach, effectively stalling the expeditionists from scouting the vast desert-like region as quickly as they normally would. When the research and command teams turned from the south basin to encroach toward a distant mountainous terrain in the east, the weather suddenly and drastically shifted.

Sandstorms, it turns out, have never been a purely natural phenomenon of the planet Novis. A sandstorm is firstly a deterrent, secondly a warning and thirdly, the camp learns after two harrowing days of life-threatening conditions, a means of attack. Apparently trespassers who do not take heed of the intermittent warnings of their misdeed are mercilessly slated for obliteration.

“Just look at that,” McCoy says, shielding his eyes against the sun to study an insanely huge rotating wind-funnel tearing up the basin. The dust devil’s heading is unmistakably the makeshift Fleet compound, currently a tiny, distant speck in his sightline and soon to be wiped off the horizon entirely. “It feels sort of shameful to say this, but Starfleet ought to get better at identifying occupied planets.”

The doctor blinks away the sun in his eyes as he lowers his hands and faces his silent companion. “You were right, by the way.”

Kirk’s pinched expression implies in this instance he takes no pleasure from being right.

Leonard points out, “If the captain had taken your concern seriously instead of relegating you to manual labor—”

“Don’t,” interrupts the younger lieutenant. “I didn’t have proof, and I made a mess of the lab trying to find some. He was right to discipline a wayward officer.”

McCoy sighs. “Right now, I doubt that makes him or the rest of the camp feel better. Not with that thing only an hour away.” He swallows a second sigh, because so far sighing hasn’t calmed his rising level of stress. “So, what do we do? Any ideas?” Grovel? he wants to ask, but doesn’t.

“Negotiate.” Jim Kirk turns into depths of the hollow mountainside which had only been recently revealed to their tricorder’s sensors. “Fight back. I don’t know yet, but we must do something.”

Leonard agrees, even if he thinks neither of them are experienced enough to handle their current situation.

His tricorder chirrups steadily, guiding the men to the source of irregular energy readings which had drawn them toward the mountains earlier that day. Leonard now believes the readings indicate a hitherto undiscovered pattern of life, even if he cannot consider the pattern as repeatable under other conditions. It would make for a marvelous study in his laboratory; perhaps the findings are even suitable for recording into his ongoing research paper that highlights the need for field devices with upgraded scanning support of the finer particle spectrums—if he and this data survive what’s coming next, that is.

The cavern’s tunnel ends at an enclave that, from its appearance, used to be a shrine of sorts. The race who worshipped here must have lived hundreds if not thousands of years ago, for the shrine is obviously abandoned. The doctor’s gaze lingers on faded alien symbols, across the dull sheen of crumbling metal ornamentation, and the many toppled statuettes and scattered pottery fragments from smashed jars and bowls.

Yet this enclave is not devoid of life. At the back wall, with its face aged, body thin, androgynous and unclothed, a humanoid figure sits cross-legged upon a flat outcropping of rock, at first glance nearly indistinguishable from the mountain itself. Then a bluish light becomes noticeable, emanating from the creature’s wide-set eyes in an otherwise stone-like countenance. Despite those open eyes never blinking, and the head and limbs remaining motionless, both Starfleet officers know the entity closely monitors their approach.

When Kirk and McCoy had initially discovered this inner opening to the mountain, the entity sent them scampering back to the cliff-face in a panic by making a dire pronouncement of the now-howling storm sent to eradicate their compound, lying clueless and vulnerable out on the open sands. In that moment, Kirk and McCoy didn’t bother to second-guess what the being told them, or even that it could speak to them without moving its mouth. The sense of impending doom imparted upon them was nearly crushing and so unexpected, they had to see the scene for themselves.

Now it’s confirmed: the entity means serious business.

But what can they, two lightly armed and very junior officers, do about it?

From the corner of McCoy’s sight, he can see Kirk clench his fists, see his jaw ticking with aggression. Leonard, too, wouldn’t mind a fight if it meant they could save their people, but he frankly doesn’t believe they can win against this particular enemy.

However, it’s an easy guess as to the being is so angry with them. The doctor informs it, “We didn’t intentionally come to this planet to disturb you.”

“Yet you disturb this one here and now, where none are welcome,” the creature accuses them, sounding like a voice in their ears, deep in tone despite the appearance of its frail, old features carved into a body made from the mountain. “You are not invited to this one’s home.”

Leonard fires back, feeling his own temper flare hot, “We tried knocking first! It’s not our fault we couldn’t comprehend your response!”

“Let us fix this,” Kirk jumps in. “Now that we know you live here, we can talk about what each of us wants—or we can leave, if we have to. But we don’t consider our presence here provoking. You’re going to kill innocents!”

The brightness of the entity’s gaze triples in intensity and creates such a strong ray of light, Leonard and Jim are momentarily forced to look away.

“For a time beyond your imagining,” it says while they are blinded, “this one has lived in solitude, as is this one’s right. You claim to bring no harm but how to be sure of it? This one has been deceived before by you who are of another world. Those ones lived long enough to regret their betrayal.”

“Great,” McCoy mutters under his breath. Of course it would be their luck that this thing has a warped perception of intergalactic visitors as well as a history of violence against them. Still, as Starfleet, it is his and Kirk’s duty to try to be the voice of reason. And reasoning with it seems to be their only way of surviving this encounter, he suspects.

He tries looking at the being again once it subsides. “Harm done out of ignorance isn’t the same as an attack. We’re simply asking for the chance to address our mistake.”

When Kirk throws an unreadable look his way, McCoy tries his best not to react to it, because Kirk clearly feels dubious about whatever new approach Leonard is about to try out.

He forges on, “Let me start by apologizing for disturbing you in your home.” And they have done so, that much is clear even if they were already accused of being invaders. Unknowing to be sure, but they have blithely trundled right through somebody else’s living room and without so much as a by-your-leave. His ma would tell him to feel ashamed of such behavior.

“Sorry about that,” Leonard says, regretting his previous outburst. “I am sorry.”

Kirk catches on quickly. “We’re both sorry.”

Leonard’s heart pounds hard in his chest for the handful of seconds it takes for the creature how sincere they are.

Finally the disembodied voice says, “I accept,” and the light in the cavern abates to a much more tolerable level for Kirk and McCoy’s human senses.

Then it asks the question Leonard was dreading, “Why are you here?”

He doubts it will like their explanation since it seems so territorial.

Leonard decides to give his companion a gentle nudge of the elbow to impart, Your turn.

“We recently charted a portion of your star system and found this planet to be habitable for our kind,” Kirk starts, only to pause when Leonard subtly shakes his head. He narrows his gaze at McCoy but then straightens his shoulders, wisely doing what they skipped the first time around—introductions. “I am Lieutenant Kirk from Earth of the Sol system. This is Dr. Leonard McCoy, also of Earth. We belong to the United Federation of Planets, to an institution called Starfleet. We’re… explorers.”

“We seek out new life and new worlds,” Leonard tells the entity, inexplicably pleased Kirk had understood his warning to play it by the book. He rocks up onto the toes of his boots, unable to hold back the quip, “You definitely count as new life.”

“Your kind are also unknown to this one.” When the entity’s voice makes a soft sound like a sigh, Leonard has the odd impression the entire mountain is exhaling along with it. “And yet not entirely. What is your connection?”

Kirk frowns, “As I said, we work for Starfleet. It’s a peacekeeping organization for interstellar—”

“Your connection,” it overrides the young man, “to each other.”

That is certainly a weird question, decides Leonard. He and the lieutenant share a confused look.

“We were paired for this exploration,” Kirk says while McCoy blurts out before he can stop himself, “We’re friends.”

Immediately Kirk pivots to face him. “Friends,” he repeats heavily, as though he might have misheard the doctor.

Okay, so Leonard had been thinking people in a precarious situation like this could use friends, and his brain-to-mouth filter translated that thought entirely wrong; but now that he has said it, he certainly can’t take it back! Shrugging, he retorts, not quite as a challenge, “Why not? You gave me a nickname, didn’t you?”

“Bones?” Kirk utters the word in disbelief. “You really want to be called Bones?”

McCoy has always been a little too prideful to back down from an argument right away, even when he knows better. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you trying to offend me, Jim? And see! I call you by your first name because you told me to!”

The young man’s chest puffs out. “It’s not uncommon to ask someone you work with to use your first name.”

Now McCoy is offended! “You tell me exactly who goes around chatting with other officers on a first-name basis at a lieutenant’s rank and with only a week’s acquaintance!”

“You,” quips Kirk with an infuriating grin.

This Jim Kirk thinks he’s so clever! Leonard can be just as clever! …Well, he could if there wasn’t some truth to what Kirk said in this particular instance. He does prefer to use a first-name basis with the officers he feels willing to get along with. Kirk wouldn’t know that those officers have always been from the Medical field like McCoy.

Huh.

Just as Leonard side-eyes his companion, then, wondering if he might have subconsciously deemed Jim Kirk as friend-material. Which, he reasons, would be very weird given the handful of days they have known each other.

The third (and clearly most powerful) presence in the cavern reasserts itself into the doctor’s awareness with a popping command of “Enough!” in both their ears. Just in time, too, because Kirk had looked like he would keep the argument going (and Leonard might have obliged him).

The doctor refocuses on the being following a roll of his eyes at Kirk, who snorts softly before also turning back to it.

This must be why an ancient being wouldn’t want humans as house guests, Leonard thinks, as that would mean entertaining their very peculiar, very petty disagreements. But the entity no longer seems angry with them, which is a step in the right direction, even if it now considers one or both of them the equivalent of squabbling children.

“This one should have understood sooner the nature of your presence once the entrance was revealed to you.” The tone of its voice changes to something more wistful. “This place was once the blessing hall and sanctuary for fated pairs, but this one has not encountered them for millennia. It was assumed they existed no more.”

Kirk makes a quick stalling motion when Leonard opens his mouth to question the absurdity of that little speech. “Fated pair? Explain.”

“Your hands, raise them,” it orders of the officers.

After tucking his phaser into his belt, Kirk stretches his arms out in front of him. Leonard reluctantly follows suit. Nothing happens at first, not until a thin red line slowly loops itself around Kirk’s smallest finger. Then it extends like a string over to Leonard’s hand, connecting right above his family’s heirloom ring on his pinkie. He tries to grasp it with his other hand but his fingers slide through empty air. Visible but not tangible, he thinks, must mean it is an illusion.

Kirk tentatively moves his hand away from McCoy, and they both study how the red string elongates to accommodate the growing distance.

“Do you feel anything?” Leonard whispers from the corner of his mouth at Kirk.

The young man shakes his head in the negative.

“The fate of two people may be tied together,” explains the old being, “represented by what you see between you, the String of Fate. This one cannot tell you its exact purpose or its origins, despite the many pairs who have stood precisely where you stand now and have observed it. Only know that the String’s existence is sacred and is to be honored.”

Kirk’s gaze narrows. “In other words, you can’t kill us.”

The entity coolly responds, “This one is not so bold as to defy Fate.”

It must be implying they shouldn’t be so bold either, and Leonard doesn’t understand why. Well, regardless of fate strings and whatnot, Leonard is relieved to have the deck is unexpectedly stacked in their favor. As a scientist and physician, he feels somewhat uncomfortable dealing with mysticism (it’s hard to quantify in his opinion), but he certainly was not raised to be dumb enough to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I don’t think you can kill the rest of our party either,” Leonard says. “Mr. Kirk and I will never make it off this planet by ourselves—” Not entirely true, as somebody will come looking for them after a few days of radio silence. “—and, well, then you can bet it’ll be the shortest fate ever shared between any pair of people.”

Kirk’s mouth quirks as though Leonard is quite the funny fellow. In the next instant, the red string linking their hands winks out of sight.

“My friend is right.” Kirk eyes the being shrewdly. “Cutting our existence short might be very disappointing.”

McCoy thinks that might be the understatement of the century.

The entity seems to agree that risking disappointment (to itself, most likely) is absolutely not an acceptable outcome. The light from its eyes build to a blinding white, all at once illuminating the enclave in stark detail such that every shard of rock is acutely visible. When the light finally recedes, it is so diminished as to nearly make Leonard feel he is stuck in darkness.

“Your companions will live,” it declares, in a voice as strong as ever despite the muted aura. “But heed this one closely: This world can never be shared. Leave and do not return.”

It’s a threat they won’t take lightly. They would be but a team of mortals against man-eating dust clouds and an unwelcoming environment. Nobody would wish to stick around to find out what defiance brings them. But Leonard bets Kirk is already compiling a suitably scary-enough story for his commanding officer. They need to be off this planet the moment emergency transmissions into space are possible again.

Leonard shuffles backward, ready to leave, but soon realizes Kirk is still firmly planted in the same spot. The stubborn set of the man’s jaw has McCoy internally groaning. It truly is the young who are the brash ones!

“You decided you can’t trust us, so how can we trust you to let us go unharmed?” Kirk’s tone is clipped as he addresses the entity that had once threatened to kill them.

Leonard finds himself nodding. All they have is a promise based on a belief system they don’t fully understand, cannot appreciate, and have no precedent to measure against that Leonard knows of.

But the entity doesn’t seem impressed—or is simply over their encounter already—for it places the claim upon them a final time of “Fated ones.”

Leonard almost shudders at that phrase, afraid in the vaguest sense that it might try to stick around in his head with a tenacity he isn’t prepared to deal with. For a brief second, Kirk looks no less troubled.

“You become your own salvation,” they are told. “This one is unable to interfere, as no shared fates can end in the place that they begin.”

Despite the ring of truth Leonard can discern in that, he has to wonder why any creature living on a desolate planet for an untold amount of years would have reason to be benevolent, if only about this little thing. Is it that loyal to the concept of one’s fate? Is it being mysterious to toy with them as a form of punishment? Or is it simply feeling mischievous?

Wordlessly, Kirk comes over to McCoy until they are standing shoulder-to-shoulder, his fingers lightly gripping the handle of the phaser in his belt.

They share a look. Neither of them asks the natural follow-up question of how a shared fate does end.

The light in the being extinguishes entirely, then, a clear dismissal. Leonard turned on the flashlight built into his tricorder and guided them out of the mountain.

It isn’t until Kirk stops nearby to flip open his communicator and contact the compound for an update that Leonard takes a moment to covertly study his profile. Or more specifically, he studies Kirk’s hands and then, at length, his own hands. Nothing has changed in appearance, and not a red string in sight. Yet McCoy is left with the feeling that the path he has been traveling might have just veered in an unexpected direction.

Maybe that is just the aftereffect of encountering an old god.

Kirk’s question of “Are you okay?” drags the doctor from his thoughts.

“Yeah. But are they?” he asks, gesturing at the communicator.

Kirk nods. “Cuts and bruises from flying debris. Everyone is shaken up.” His gaze pins McCoy’s. “The weather has been deemed too unpredictable to continue operations on the surface. We’re to report in as quickly as we can and pack our gear.”

Somebody will want to know what he and Kirk have been up to. Leonard doesn’t know if he can properly explain what happened, and it certainly isn’t possible to have the explanation be remotely scientific.

Sighing, he stares up at an eerily calm sky. “We should go.” It is still midday judging by the position of the sun, but they have quite the trek ahead of them to reach the camp.

He cranks up his tricorder again and starts along, only to hear Kirk’s call at his back of “Wait,” and as McCoy turns, Kirk adds after a heavy pause, “Bones?”

Leonard raises both eyebrows at him.

Kirk asks, “You don’t mind that, right?”

Leonard’s nerves oddly settle at the uncertain request. Despite the stress of the past several hours and the tension that still exists between him and this young lieutenant, it could be possible something good has come out of their truly bizarre experience.

Something—or someone—like a real friend. If they want to work for it.

“I don’t mind, Jim,” he replies, allowing for a small smile, and Jim responds in kind. “Call me Bones.”