that ditzy guy

"Besides, I wanna know why you travel around with that ditzy guy who knows that Gracie's pregnant and calls you 'Admiral.'"

Gillian's delivery was positively belligerent, intent as she was on spearing to the point of a wandering whale whisperer whose chosen companion was decidedly less outwardly mystical, or barring that sketchy, than he was; she left no reservation on any power Kirk might have over her in this interaction.

Before he could stop the words marching faux-glibly out of his mouth, Jim heard himself say, "His mind used to be his greatest treasure. Then he sort of..." the free fingertips flapped out, then clenched back over the supporting fist "...gave all that up."

"LDS, huh?"

Indeed, her advantage was no whimsical illusion. She was a damned smart woman.

"Right, right..."

A limp laugh. More Michelob. (Corn. Iowa.) What's the difference between acid and radiation burns?

Well. For one thing, drugs are a trip you can take with friends.

No one could do what Spock had done. No one could go where Spock had gone.

Only Nixon could go to China, and only Spock could be born again with so much magnificent emptiness in his head.

Human - humanoid - intelligence had always advanced, year over year, and in terms of pure intellectual impression, Vulcans were incomparable. Spock was an utter genius in the twenty-third century. Now he appeared stupid in the flat, wartorn twentieth.

It wasn't about arrogance. It wasn't about needing to merit the trust of a crafty cetacean biologist because of the probe, the probe, the probe.

It was about someone Jim respected - implicitly! - meeting the other half of his soul and not seeing it in all its rightful glory. If a stranger couldn't do that, how could Spock?

What if she was right? What if he was lost?

Jim'd make himself sick if he thought about it for much longer.

Gillian, blessedly, seemed to take notice of this. She averted her eyes for just long enough to appear conversational, then flicked them back. "You okay? Something go down the wrong pipe?"

Well. Pipe, Jeffries tube, torpedo chute, warp core...yeah. Sure.

Jim coughed absently. Gillian took another sip, and skillfully changed the subject: "Where could you take them?"

Where? Many places. The promised land, first of all. Genesis, the origin of all things...that'd take travel even further back through time, though, and they were having enough trouble hinging their trajectories on Spock's calculations for the relatively short span they'd already gambled themselves over.

Spock's calculations. For the love of God, he'd programmed the variables from memory! Was there a single Vulcan Jim had ever met, from Stonn to Sonak, that would answer to the descriptor of "ditzy"?

Lost? Jim certainly was. With whales and water and all, his precious anchor had become weightless.

He was getting far too worked up about it, he knew, and his stare became vacant as he sought to recall all the breathing exercises and mental contortions Spock had ever taught him.

"Hey, Earth to Admiral Kirk? Gosh, you're just as bad as the other guy."

Jim nodded mournfully, yet distracted. Indeed, I am. For in this, as in all things, I carry his honor. It took a fighting crew of us to carry his soul.

Just for all of this, I need to tell you the truth.