Title: I'm Too Old For This Shit
Author: Yami no Kaiba
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Kirk!Prime (in spirit)/Spock!Prime/McCoy!Prime, Kirk
Length: 3,320 words
Summary: He'd had to come out of retirement for a second time to do this.
Disclaimers: I do not own the characters or the concepts of Star Trek in any of its forms.
Notes: Thanks to Memory Alpha, Wikipedia, and Jim Wegryn’s list of Famous Ships and Boats. Wonderful sites for resource and ship names.
Notes 2: Also, while I ignore a lot of comic stuff because it simply isn't cannon most of the time, and I haven't read Countdown, which is supposedly a prequel to the Eleventh Movie, I enjoyed and will briefly mention The Wake, a short comic written by Jeffrey Lang. Also, a brief mention of and dialogue from a scene of the episode The Immunity Syndrome. Finally, just take it for grated that the Original Movies will be referenced often.
*---*---*---*---*
He's stopped breathing and there are tears in his eyes after he reads the missive from Owen, one of his many contacts that he still talks to in the Fleet's Admirality.
Spock is officially MIA. Unofficially, Starfleet believes him dead, because there was a god-damn black hole where the pointy-eared bastard was last known to be, before the thing sucked in the nova it had been meant to.
A small electrical jolt from his monitors has him convulsively breathing again, and he uses the air he gets to curse the universe in general and a certain Vulcan in particular, even as he starts writing up messages of his own.
He might not know astrophysics and advanced mathematics in as a great a depth as Spock, but he's served on the Enterprise with James T. Kirk. What he does know is that large gravity wells can be used in sling-shot maneuvers to time travel. A black hole may not be a sun, but it's still a gravity well.
"And unless he's lost his freakin' Vulcan mind, Spock knows that too."
But mostly he knows that Spock knows advanced astrophysics and mathematics and thus how to time travel.
If Spock hasn't managed to make his way back here by now, it's Leonard's job to drag the man back, by his pretty pointed-ear if necessary.
After all, Jim's not around to do it anymore.
It's a sign of how old he is when the thought only causes a minimal ache.
*---*---*---*---*
It takes a week, but he calls in enough personal favors and shames enough youngsters to get someone to pull his records and get him recalled back to service once more.
There's a bit of pomp and circumstance, and a lot of the sub-space stations are giving headlines about the oldest human in Starfleet History and trying to get an interview with him, but he's an old hand at the politics game and manages to shuck everything onto a press agent.
A lot of his musculature has atrophied with the enforced bed rest he was ordered into seventeen years ago, but by taking a page out of Spock’s book, he finds he can move around well enough with one of those weird-fangly jet belts and a hover chair.
The only real problem is his damned hands; if he's not careful, attempts to apply too much pressure for precision grip, they shake like the devil himself has possessed him. Fine-motor control is one of the first things to go, he knows.
It always feels like a personal betrayal though, whenever he sees one of them shudder and swerve. They'd been the tools of his trade, at one point, steady and sure when the very environment around him shuddered and tossed them all around, saving more than one life while they were under fire.
There's no medication designed yet that can re-lay myelin sheaths along a person's nervous system, so there's no help there. Embarrassing as it is, he leaves the paperwork to his newly assigned aid, who also ends up fetching and holding a lot of the smaller and thinner things in his new office.
Despite the paperwork the Fleet tries to bowl him under with, he keeps his eyes on the gold and his feet on the track.
*---*---*---*---*
He's managed to annoy, piss off, and get no less than three well meaning insinuations that he should roll over and die, and even one direct death threat, but he won his way.
He's got himself a ship, with the required tracking sensors and computational software, top of the line shields and stabilizers, and a limited warp capacity (at least, limited for this day and age). She's small, only needs one man to pilot her. They'd wanted to name her the U.S.S. Constitution, but he'd nipped that one in the bud. Besides, he'd always had a thing for navel history, and while he could appreciate the joke (the oldest human in Starfleet flying a ship named after the oldest commissioned boat on Earth), it didn't fit her purpose. So she doesn't have a name as yet and she's small, but it's not like Starfleet was willing or ready to devote major resources to get back one man thought dead, even if that man was an influential Ambassador.
Personally, McCoy thinks they just wanted to get the 'Old Man' off their backs. Believes they figure he'll have a heart attack the first time she jumps to warp, and that'll be the that.
A darker, more politically-minded part of him that he'd thought he'd left behind 23 years ago understands that there are certain factions in Starfleet that didn't like Spock's work with the Romulans. Knows that they're the same reason that Starfleet's assemblies have been unnaturally bogged down in details and bureautic crap, stalling any potential aid that Starfleet could give to what's left of the Romulan Star Empire.
Thinks, in the darkest hour of the night as his prescription meds settle in his stomach, that they might have even been responsible for Romulus' star going nova sooner than it was predicted to.
Knows that if Spock returns, that green-blooded pointy-eared devil is just going to walk right back into that mess and possibly get himself assassinated.
"Generations later and it's the God-damned Federation-Klingon peace accords all over again," he mutters to himself, ignoring the looks he gets from the dock workers as he floats his way to the ship. He can feel it in his gut, only this time there's no Jim to suss-out the situation and swoop in and save the day at the last minute. Only him and Spock.
But one of them isn't here.
It was time to drag the naughty little scientist home. Then maybe these old bones of his could finally get some rest.
He doubts it, though. When it comes to Spock and Jim, he never gets any rest.
*---*---*---*---*
"This is the U.S.S. Intrepid to NCC-75793 --"
"U.S.S. Zamalek, Lieutenant."
A pause over the com. "Pardon, sir?"
He reaches over to adjust a doohickey that's beeping at him. He thinks it's the indicator for the long-range sensors, but for all he knows it's the storage buffer for the replicator. Stupid engineers and their need to rearrange stuff that works just fine the way it is. "The name, boy. The name. A ship without a name is just bad luck, you know. No personality, no purpose. But the Zamalek has a history and a purpose, and she's got that same purpose now."
Another pause, and the next time the boy's voice comes over the com, it's just that bit warmer; that bit more human. Leonard can't help smiling, thinking about how Spock used to do the same thing. "I see. Then this is the U.S.S. Intrepid to the U.S.S. Zamalek. You are cleared for launch, Admiral McCoy."
His stomach is as queasy as the first time he left Earth, but like then he's got to go travel into the cold dark of space. At least this time he's not running from a messy divorce. "Well then, Lieutenant, you tell that randy Captain of yours thanks for the ride, and I'll be ready for pickup in a few days when you youngen's will be back in the area."
"Aye, sir. Intrepid out."
"Well, Leonard, you're on your own now. Here's hoping things don't get interesting," he whispered, and set the ship on course for the black hole.
*---*---*---*---*
He'd damned near had a heart attack – and oh, how he hates the imagined smug laughter he can almost hear at that one – but he's here. Thankfully the shields and stabilizers had dropped the turbulence down to a slight shake like he'd hoped they would.
Here being near 130 years in the past.
If Spock were here, he'd do that cute little frown of his that Leonard had constantly tried to bait out of him and correct him that it was 129 years, 8 months, and so on down to a point however many seconds. And he'd turn around and shout something about how rounding numbers was good for the soul.
God, speaking of numbers, somewhere running around this universe there's another him that's only 31 years old. Probably still mourning his failed marriage and believing that his life is over, to boot.
Or possibly cursing his Jim Kirk for dragging him to another seedy bar and getting them both into a brawl. He can't exactly remember when he'd stopped fully punishing himself for the divorce.
Enough of that, though. He needed to find Spock. Bringing up the sensors, he scanned the area for the trail he’d tracked into the black hole, only to find a dead end in empty space, with lingering ion trails of a bigger ship.
"The bastard would make this hard for me," he groused, switching the tracker to the ion trail. When that cut off he scanned and found a warp trail, and had the nav comp compute the trajectory.
The Vulcan system. He should have known.
With a muttered curse, he was off once more.
*---*---*---*---*
For any other person, the first feeling of something being horribly wrong would have been this moment, when the sensors show a particular lack of planet.
But he's a seasoned veteran, and he'd had that feeling with him since the damn missive stating that Spock was missing again.
The signature ion trail of the mysterious large ship skips from Delta Vega to where Vulcan used to be and where a small black hole now exists, and once more out of the system. It's hard to find, because there are a heap of other signatures, but the ion content for the others is distinctly different – distinctly Federation.
So, he goes to Delta Vega, not wanting to lose a possible clue. He doesn't even make orbit before he's getting a hail that’s got his eyebrows rising, because he hadn't been expecting to hear that voice.
"Ah now, this is the Federation Outpost of Delta Vega, to unidentified vessel. We're a wee bit busy here, what with all that's happened lately. Any way, we're not in right now, if ya' need any help, get on the sub-space com to the following outposts –"
He shakes his head, even as he sets the ship to follow the new warp trail. Only Scotty...
*---*---*---*---*
"Crap!" He shouts as the red lights flare and sirens sound off around him. He's grabbing at his chest where his heart's pounding a mile a minute. He's too old for this shit, these sudden surprise starts. When he sees Spock again –
He hadn't paid attention to where the new trail led, and he had dropped out of warp around Earth.
Around Earth, and in the middle of the First Fleet that is orbiting it at the same time. They've got weapons locked on the Zamalek before he can finish cursing, and the com's literally squealing with all the different ships hailing him.
He picks one randomly to answer, and as the connection brings the screens online, he can't help but start laughing.
Because its Jim. The universe is small like that.
"I really don't see how having over twenty Federation ships with all their weapons locked on your ship is funny – Wait a minute. Bones?"
He gets it. He really does. Of course Spock would have to find Jim. It would be a sad universe where that didn't happen. And then, for some stupid, crazy reason, he'd have had to meld with the boy.
It's the Enterprise. These things happen.
"Got it in one, Jimmy-boy," he gets out, while trying to suppress the last of his chuckles. God, they look young. He can see all the old gang on the screen except Scotty and himself, and he's a bit glad for that. "You mind telling the other ships out there I'm just an old country doctor?"
Jim waves negligently, and Uhura's on it in the blink of an eye. "So what brings you here to this neck of the parallel timelines, Old Man?"
He cracks a smile. "Hah. It doesn't seem all that long ago when you were dithering on about rounding the bend. Anyway, I'm looking for Spock. My Spock," he adds, after noticing the way the boyish looking Spock's hands still at his sides. "Figure that boy needs a ride home."
Jim's smile broadens, eyes twinkling. God, he misses that. "I got his address over at New Vulcan. Uhura will send you a packet with the details."
"Thanks, Jim," he says, and wishes he could hug the man one last time. But it's not his Jim, and its bad enough he's being this familiar, even if the boy doesn't seem to mind.
There's a swish of turbo lift doors and he panics a bit, reaching over to cut the connection because he knows himself well enough, and seeing all this, all of them so young again seems more a dream than anything else. But if he sees himself it'll all fracture because it'll be too surreal.
He's really, really too old for this shit, and if he doesn't keep thinking of it as a really good dream, he might just have that heart attack after all.
Uhura, bless her heart, sends the package, and he's on his way as soon as he's got the coordinates in the computer.
*---*---*---*---*
He drops out of warp into the new system, and whistles long and loud.
The Vulcans and Terrans have always been close since the First Contact. The Vulcans had often been the voice of reason and logical compassion in the Federation's assemblies, a well respected and powerful presence as one of the Founder Races. And it seems that closeness and station hasn't been forgotten or dropped by the wayside, despite the inevitable losses that must have happened when an entire planet goes.
The system is almost a mirror of Vulcan's – a trinary star system with a set of twin planets, one Class M, majorly desert terrain and the other Class G, an ice ball. However, there are far more satellites than Vulcan – a moon seems to orbit each twin separately, while a third moon seems to be suspended in the balance of a tug-a-war between the two.
The system itself has more planets as well, for a total of 6 planets including the twins, and two asteroid belts. One of the others is Class M as well, and already has a small Human colony on it, but one of the asteroid belts separates the two Class M planets.
New Vulcan is surrounded by orbiting platforms and transport ships of all types, with cargo carriers and runabouts zipping up and down from the surface, no doubt carrying both equipment and supplies to the colony. There are no weapons defense platforms, which is a satisfying thing to see; when he'd read the official report dated a month back on what had happened to Vulcan that had been attached to Uhura's package, he'd feared that the circumstances of their survival would make the Vulcans re-think their pacifistic tendencies.
As the Zamalek gets closer to New Vulcan, he can see the Terra-formers at work, creating cityscapes out of the planet's sandstone, while preserving the more fertile lands for agricultural development.
He makes space dock at Platform Gamma, and it takes barely the time of a single exchange of credits before he's floating his chair onto a transport headed to the planet below.
*---*---*---*---*
He pauses outside the Vulcan Academy of Science's Residential Hall to adjust to the planet's heat in the shade of a twiggy tree with fronds. The best part, he thinks as he looks about, is that he can see Spock's hand in the designs. He's been to Vulcan more times than he can count in his life-time; he knows what Vulcan traditional architectural design looks like, and while there are plenty of those types of buildings in front of him, the laid out foundation stones for the Academy suggest a larger portioning of space for the Interstellar, Cartographic, and Xeno-science sections than had been in the previous campus.
It makes sense, in a way. In this time, Sarek is still alive, and the Romulans are still far too hostile from the Earth-Romulan War to approach with any sort of olive branch. It'll take at least another generation on both sides before the memories fade enough for that. There's no reason for Spock to be an Ambassador of the Federation to them, while surely the Vulcan Science Academy has taken massive loses in their faculty. And with Spock's experiences, its only natural that he could benefit his people here most by taking a position as a teacher and encouraging the bonds between Vulcan and the Federation.
It's all very logical, after all.
Ignoring the glances and dismissals of the students wandering about this late in the day, Leonard nudges the controls so that he floats inside and down the East Wing hall, stopping at the designated rooms.
They're locked, and knocking doesn't get any response. Chuckling and assuming that Spock's off doing a late afternoon lecture at one of the temporary structures standing in for classrooms, he relaxes his hands as best he can and gets to work.
Once the faceplate on the electronic lock is off, it's like he's back on the Enterprise all those years ago, Spock right beside him doing surgery on a torpedo.
*---*---*---*---*
He wakes up to the difference in pressure, and peels his eyes open in time to catch a familiar silhouette in the open door, back-lit by the hallway lights before the door swishes closed. The room's lights remain dark, and Leonard reigns in a derogatory remark about mood lighting and unasked for dramatics.
"Sixteen years, you green-blooded emotionless calculator. Sixteen years I haven't heard from you, and the next thing I know I've got a missive about you being MIA, possibly dead again. Is that anyway to treat an old man, I ask you?"
There's an audible indrawn breath and the lightest tint of disbelief in Spock's voice, "Computer, lights, 50%."
And for the first time in sixteen years, since he'd woken up to an empty whisky glass that he sure as hell remembers smelling but never tasting, he finally sees Spock again.
What a fine pair they make. Silver-white hair, wrinkles, lanky, bony, and in some areas flabby skinned where the fat and flesh of youth has slipped away.
"Doctor."
It's no sudden grab and bright grinning smile like that time Spock had thought he'd killed Jim, but then they've both grown: Leonard is more patient, Spock is more composed. "In the flesh, or what's left of it."
"How – Ah, the black hole?"
"Never could get anything passed you."
"That was a very dangerous journey, Doctor, especially in your condition," Spock says, with that disapproving tilt of his head and small frown.
"Condition, shmition," he says with an expansive wave of a hand. He knows his blue eyes glitter as he leans forward, and gives a twist to words uttered a long time ago, from when he'd first heard about the U.S.S. Intrepid, and the lost Vulcan crew of that ship. "Shut up, Spock. I'm rescuing you."
He can see when the words trigger recall, as those brown eyes warm and dance. "Why, thank you, Admiral McCoy."
They got a way to go yet to get back, and a game of political intrigue to thwart when they do, but for the first time in a month, McCoy's feeling the overhanging presence of proceeding doom ebb.
They're together again, and it feels like the universe doesn't stand a chance.
And somewhere, he thinks Jim is laughing.
--Fin.