I have numerous plot bunnies in development right now (oh how I need to stop watching The Original Series), but this one finally reached a conclusion.

Angst ahoy!

No beta, so the issues are all mine.

Disclaimer: If Star Trek was mine, it'd be life, readers, but not as I know it. So instead, I'm just a geek who writes this stuff for free ;)

He should've died thinking he had everything he'd ever wanted, but Jim knew the life he saw had never been his.

Bliss

“Jim, I need to know what happened.”

In the depths of sickbay, far from the crew, Leonard McCoy kept watch over an uncharacteristically quiet Jim Kirk. McCoy had seen his friend in numerous unpleasant states: drunken, bloody, unwell, exhausted, but never had he seen the kid look so deeply distressed. Tired, reddened, washed out eyes stared at nothing. Under the thin, standard issue blanket, Jim had his knees pulled to his chest. He had the desolate look of someone who had suffered a terrible loss... but what, who? Jim wouldn't speak.

McCoy attempted another tactic.

“Well, maybe you don't remember then. We found an unknown ship floating in space, apparently dead. It was unlike anything we'd ever seen, totally alien, so you had to explore it. You took two security officers and went aboard, but it had a defensive system we didn't expect.” McCoy paused, hoping for a response.

Jim blinked. It would have to do.

McCoy went on. “The computer system fed off emotions in order to power the ship. Using your own memories, it showed you an illusion, something you wanted more than anything. Then it started to absorb your emotions to use as fuel.” McCoy stared at his friend, hoping for some kind of reaction. “The others didn't make it. You're the only person to wake up from it, ever. Spock was the only one we could send to get you, being the unemotional bastard that he is...”

It took a lot of effort to ignore the memory of Spock's concerned expression as he carried a sobbing Jim in his arms. McCoy wasn't certain he'd ever shake the feelings that had swamped him as he and Spock moved to Sickbay.

McCoy shook himself. Now was not the time. “Jim? C'mon kid, I just called the First Officer a bastard. Doesn't that warrant a court martial or somethin'?”

The kid blinked, made a noise that could've been “oh”, but it was nearly too soft to hear. Still, it was a significant step up from his drug-induced haze of the past twenty-four hours.

“Anyway, Spock decided that other ship was a threat and disabled it. It's just junk floating through space now, nothing...”

“I couldn't, Bones.”

McCoy wasn't certain he'd ever heard anything so desperate in all his life. “Couldn't what?”

“Believe it.” Jim's laugh was strangled, more like a sob than anything else. “I fucked it all up, told myself I wanted my reality, because it was too perfect. What the hell does that say about me?” McCoy placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, felt the shudders working through Jim as he added, “That wasn't my life, it was his, because my dad...”

He squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face into the pillow. One fever-warm hand clung onto McCoy's, and McCoy couldn't help but wonder if Jim needed some kind of physical connection to remind him of what was real. What the hell had he seen?

“I can't be him, Bones. I can't. We're different, but I keep seeing his life, over and over, but it's wrong, Bones, all wrong.”

“Who are you talking about?”

Pulling his hand free, Jim shook his head. “It doesn't matter.”

“Jim...”

“Not important.”

“Okay,” McCoy relented, albeit unwillingly. “Get some rest.”

“I can't lose the Enterprise over this.”

“What? Jim, you're not gonna lose the ship.”

“I need to think... need to figure out...”

“No, you need to rest. I'm gonna get you a sedative...”

“Bones? I don't want to dream.”

McCoy had expected a fight, not a request. “Hold on.”

With the aid of a hypo, McCoy gave Jim a dreamless sleep. Feeling unpleasantly grim, McCoy dimmed the lights and returned to his PADD, updating his log.

“We need to go to the Vulcan colony,” Jim announced two days later when McCoy cleared him for light duty that would take him nowhere near the bridge. He still looked pale and drained, but McCoy knew better than to argue with the man when his eyes glinted with the sharp edge of determination. “It should only take twelve hours to divert there and we can be back on course for Wavaya shortly after that. We'll lose a day, that's it. No big deal.”

“Orders from Starfleet?” Spock asked. He and McCoy were in Jim's quarters, standing in the small living room attached to the more personal areas. “I was unaware of any such...”

“I need to speak with the Ambassador,” Jim said. “In person,” he added, when Spock tried to suggest an alternative.

“Why?” McCoy asked.

“I just...” A storm rolled in, Jim's eyes growing cloudy and distant. “There's something I need him to do.” He gave a funny sighing laugh. “He can help me settle my mind. Until then,” he looked at McCoy and Spock with unfamiliar seriousness, “I can't do my job properly.”

“Can I not be of assistance?” Spock inquired. “He and I are...”

“Not the same,” Jim snapped. At Spock and McCoy's raised eyebrows, he subsided. “Sorry, but it's gotta be the Ambassador.”

McCoy couldn't help but give his friend a look, which Jim responded to with something equal parts determination and desperation. He'd clearly made up his mind to do something, but what? Jim's stiff posture and schooled expression read loud and clear: don't ask me to explain this. McCoy didn't know if he could keep quiet this time, not when the entire ship and their mission had to be put to one side.

Spock was similarly unsatisfied. “Such vague reasoning will not satisfy Starfleet Command when they request the nature of our diversion.”

“I really don't care what Command has to say, but if you need an excuse, tell them I ordered the ship to the colony and claimed my reasons were classified.” Which, McCoy thought, they pretty much were. “You can leave me to deal with them later.”

“Such a diversion, with scant explanation, would be a waste of our resources and...”

“And as Captain, I'm ordering that we go to the colony. Spock, please.” And there it was again, that unpleasant combination of emotions. “I have to see the Ambassador.”

“Jim, if this has something to do with...”

“Bones,” Jim said sharply. “Later.”

McCoy frowned heavily but held himself silent.

Spock, having no such emotionality, spoke up. “Captain, if the events of the past few days have in some way emotionally compromised you, and my elder self can provide some form of aid, then it would be a logical course of action to seek him out at the colony.”

Jim's smile was faint. “Fine, but that's not what you're telling Command.”

Jim wouldn't let anyone come down to the planet's surface with him. “It's a planet full of Vulcans,” he argued from the transporter pad, forcing a lighthearted tone. “There can't be a saner, calmer, less dangerous place in the entire universe.”

“Just wait 'til your allergies flare up,” McCoy muttered.

“I'll be sure to comm you the moment my hands swell up,” Jim said, a genuine smile touching his face for the first time in days.

The smile did nothing to allay McCoy's worry. Why would it, when he still had no idea what Jim had seen.

“Scotty?”

“You'll be just outside the Ambassador's quarters,” Scott said, hands on the controls. “Just let me know when you're ready to beam back, Cap'n.”

“Yeah. Energize.”

Jim faded from sight. McCoy didn't move.

Scott looked at the man. “Doctor?”

“I'm waitin' right here.”

The knocking on Spock's door was rapid. Opening it, Spock was not surprised to see who waited there. “Jim, my alternate self informed me of your impending visit. I did not realize the Enterprise was nearby.” He took a moment to look at the young man, taking note of his pale complexion and the almost imperceptible shaking of his hands. “You seem unwell.”

Jim didn't hold back. “I don't care how you do it and I don't care what I forget, but you get him out of my head.”

Spock was remarkably unfazed. “Who, Jim?”

“Him. The other me. The one you knew.” Jim marched into Spock's spartan rooms. Spock shut the door, blotting out the warm sunlight. “You put him in here and you can damn well get him out. I'm not him, his life isn't mine, and I don't want to see it any more.”

Jim burned with anger Spock had not known in his friend.

“Some memories bled through in the meld. I had thought perhaps they would offer guidance in –”

“Guidance?” Jim's rage was just barely controlled. He took a step towards Spock, angry and threatening, but he caught himself and resumed pacing. “I'm not him, Spock. Do you understand that? I can't be him.”

Spock moved into the cool room. He gave the young man the space his emotional state clearly required. “Something has happened.”

Jim's derisive laugh was painful to hear. Spock felt the sharp pang of difference, because this wasn't his long-dead friend brought back. He subdued the emotion, regained his control. He watched this young man, with eyes as blue as the sky when they should've been as brown as the soil, curl his shaking hands into fists.

“There was a ship,” Jim began to explain, never ceasing his movement. He spoke of its unique energy requirements, and while the scientist in Spock found such a craft fascinating, he couldn't deny the sympathy his human side felt. The conclusion Jim would soon reach was obvious, terribly obvious.

“It used the memories you left in here and made me think his life was mine.” Jim's voice was torn. “I had a dad there, my dad, and everything was perfect.” Jim stilled, eyes not quite reaching Spock's. “It's how I knew it wasn't real, but I can't stop the memories; Dad taking me and Sam to baseball, our first off-world vacation, Mom and Dad just laughing because they were happy...”

“Though it would be illogical to regret an event of the past, it would appear my mentioning of your father's survival, in my reality, was foolish.”

For Spock had never passed on memories of his Jim's past. How could he, when he had never been privy to such things? All he had offered were a few glimpses of Jim's command, a source of strength in times of hardship.

But, to use an Earth colloquialism, the idea backfired.

Jim moved until he was right in front of Spock, eyes bleak and voice cold. “You take it all out, now. Everything that bled through in that meld, you take it out.”

“I shall Jim, but you must know that I never intended to cause such distress.”

“I know,” Jim said softly. “But I need you to take it all back.”

Spock's hand came up, his fingers pressing lightly. “Close your eyes.”

Jim jerked as Spock initiated the meld. Carefully moving through the surface emotions and memories, Spock distanced himself from what he saw of the illusion the ship had created for Jim. Succumbing to such delusions was illogical to a Vulcan mind, but Spock understood the pain such dreams could cause a human.

And for this Jim, to be shown a life involving his father must have been agony.

Diving deeper, Spock knew what – who – to look for, and when he found the memories, he carefully began to extract them. Spock understood how, in his own emotionally compromised state on Delta Vega, he had not only thought to guide this Jim but also shape him into his Jim. Such a misguided notion was as arrogant as it was harmful.

I offer you my deepest apologies, Jim. The emotion would be easily transferred.

Time was impossible to keep track of. Night had fallen when Spock stepped out of Jim's mind, tugging the last strands of memory as he left. Pulling his hand back, Spock felt a heavy weight pressing on him. Looking down, he found Jim deeply asleep. Managing despite his years, Spock carried Jim to a chair and set him down. He didn't stir once, not even as Spock took his communicator.

“Spock to McCoy.” His eyebrow twitched at the strangeness of that. How many years had it been since he'd last said that?

“McCoy here.”

“This is Ambassador Spock. I believe it would be wise if you beam down to my residence.”

“Damnit, Spock, if you've...”

“Jim is at rest.” Apparently, Leonard McCoy was the same no matter what the reality. “However, seeking a doctor's professional assessment would be wise.”

“I'm on my way.”

McCoy materialized, his expression morphing from discomfort to concern when he saw his friend out cold in the seat. Vulcan in its design, the chair was clearly designed for efficient sitting and not comfortable sleeping – not that Jim seemed bothered, sleeping as he was.

“What happened?” McCoy asked, his tricorder already out and scanning.

“I have dealt with the memory of the attack his mind suffered. I also relieved him of memories that did not belong to him.”

“Memories?”

“Of the life he led in my reality. I believed they would aid him gain command of the Enterprise, and offer some experience to strengthen his position. I passed them to him on Delta Vega, along with an answer to a question he asked.”

“And who the hell gave you the right to do that?”

“It was, by human standards, foolish. However, retrospect and regret are illogical...”

“Don't you go hidin' behind logic, not if you're part of this damn mess!”

“Rest assured, Doctor McCoy, that a solution has been reached.”

McCoy reined in any further outbursts, falling back on his medical training. He still had a patient, one that would require aftercare. “What was the question he asked?”

“Did he, in my reality, know his father.”

McCoy bristled. “And you said yes.”

“I could not lie.”

“So, the perfect dream that ship gave him...”

“Was a life with his father, based on facts I had provided.”

Even as everything finally slotted into place, McCoy's anger did not dissipate. “You damn Vulcans need to stay out of people's heads.”

Spock, much like his younger self, ignored McCoy's comment. “Jim will be fine.”

Giving Spock a dark look, McCoy spoke with a dangerously quiet tone. “You better have taken every last damn scrap of it out of his head, because that kid has never been so lost. He's my friend, Spock, and yours too, apparently, so don't you ever leave him vulnerable like that again. Losing his dad for the second time, delusion or not, crippled him. You do anything like this to him again and you better believe I'll –”

“Doctor McCoy, there is no threat you could level at me that would outweigh my own guilt on the matter.”

“Guilt?” McCoy snorted. “So, you can feel that? Good, because you should've left damn well alone. He isn't the man you served with, he can't be, and you've got no right to make him question himself.”

“I never intended...”

“I don't much care what the hell you did intend to do, the damage was done.” McCoy took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Tell me how much you wiped from his memory.”

“All the memories concerning his alternate existence. He knows of the changed timeline, and all that entails, but has no memories of his other existence.”

“What about what the ship did to him?”

“It will be like a faint nightmare; too distant to ever recall properly.” Spock held his arms behind his back, a picture of composed serenity. “He will recover.”

McCoy couldn't read beyond the surface, but he could certainly guess that Spock was presenting an impressive facade.

From somewhere, a communicator beeped. Spock moved, but turned to McCoy. “Doctor, if I may make one suggestion?”

“What?” McCoy spat.

“You will need a reasonable explanation for his location, when he awakens.”

Dawn was seeping over the Vulcan colony by the time Jim started to stir. How the hell he'd slept the night in that damn chair was beyond McCoy, who'd had to take a seat on the floor to stop his back from aching. Placing his PADD upon a nearby table, McCoy moved to Jim's side.

Spock was nowhere to be seen, having left the previous evening after the comm message he'd received. The old Vulcan had offered little more than simple 'Farewell'. More than that probably constituted sentimentality to Vulcans and was therefore illogical.

Either that, or Spock was avoiding Jim.

McCoy had spent much of the night mulling over everything and, if he implemented a little professional detachment, he could understand Ambassador Spock's thinking. He didn't like it, but he could understand it. The Vulcan had emerged into a reality where everything was falling to pieces, and the only tool he had to use was Jim, but not the Jim he'd known. Giving memories of command to an inexperienced twenty-five year old facing the intricacies of leadership when the destruction of Earth was highly likely was, perhaps, a clever idea. And no-one could have known a computer would induce such a painful delusion... But did that excuse Spock's actions entirely, if on some level he'd hoped to influence Jim's personality? It was, McCoy thought, a debate he could have with himself for the rest of his life.

Jim stretched, yawned and nearly rolled out of the chair. Luckily for him, McCoy was ready and standing nearby, hands steadying the bleary-eyed captain.

“Easy, Jim.”

Jim winced, his body stiff from the chair. “Bones?”

“Yeah, it's me.” McCoy reached for his tricorder, the scan coming up clean. “How'd you feel?”

Jim looked around, confusion written over his sleepy features. “Where am I?” He asked through another yawn.

“The Vulcan colony.”

“Why?” Jim asked, cracking and popping various joints. “Did something happen?”

“There was an incident, with another ship, a few days ago. We needed Ambassador Spock's... specialist help with the injury you received.”

“Injury? What happened?”

McCoy readied himself. “You probably won't remember any of it...” Here's where the omissions began.