Chapter 1
by Trish Bennett

Captain James T. Kirk ran a comb through his wet hair, then stepped back to study the mirror image before him. The strong, handsome features that stared back at him looked tired, almost as tired as he felt. And the hazel eyes that usually sparkled with enthusiasm seemed to have dimmed somehow.

He needed a rest, he decided as he reached for his towel, just a few days' leave on some planet where the natives had never even heard of the Federation. Or the Enterprise. Or James T. Kirk.

He chuckled to himself as he slid into his pajamas, one of the few civilian clothing items he still owned, and his thoughts drifted back to his academy days. He remembered it as vividly as if it were yesterday. He was going to be a starship captain. He would have power. He would have prestige. He would be feared, yet respected. And everyone would know his name.

Kirk shook his head with gentle amusement and said aloud, "Be careful what you wish for..."

He looked back at the face in the mirror. He had everything he had always wanted -- the ship, the power, the respect -- and he was content. But God he was tired!

Stepping out of the bathroom, he glanced at the chronometer on his desk. Spock's shift would be ending in a few minutes, and he would invariably make sure to deliver the shift reports safely into Kirk's hands before he retired. Though not really necessary, it was a routine the Vulcan had established a long time ago. He would leave no loose ends for someone else to tie up for him. Spock was nothing if not efficient.

Kirk decided that, if he had to wait, he might as well be comfortable. He crossed in front of his desk and dropped himself down on the sofa along the wall. He waited only a moment before he swung his legs up to lay flat on his back, his hands clasped behind his head.

He closed his eyes, something he couldn't remember doing for what seemed like days. And though he knew it was impossible, he could have sworn he felt the steady drone of the ship's engines vibrate through him, as if they were his own blood coursing through his veins. He was comfortable. He was at peace.

He was nearly asleep when the door buzzer cut through the silence. Kirk did not even open his eyes.

"Come," he called out, releasing the voice-activated lock. When he heard the doors slide open, he said, "Come on in, Spock."

"Is that any kind of thing to say to a friend?"

Kirk's eyes opened as he recognized the voice, and he rolled to his side, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Sorry, Bones," he said, smiling, as Leonard McCoy ambled into the room, a bottle of brownish liquid in hand. Without waiting for an invitation, he moved to Kirk's desk, opened a drawer and withdrew two glasses. He removed the stopper from the bottle as he spoke.

"You look positively civilian," he said, studying Kirk closely. "You sick?"

"I hope not," Kirk replied, sitting up to accept the glass McCoy was offering. "At times, it seems the only thing my chief surgeon stocks in his pharmacy is alcohol."

McCoy shrugged and moved back to the desk. He seated himself in the chair and leaned back, raising his feet to rest them on the corner of the desk.

"I haven't seen you turn down a prescription yet."

Kirk took a swig of his drink, and his eyes widened slightly. His voice was raspy when he spoke again.

"And you won't. Where do you keep coming up with this stuff, anyway?"

"Now, Jim..." McCoy replied, his voice reflecting a bit more southern drawl than usual. "You know I always keep a little something around for special occasions. As for how I get it...well, I'd probably be better off if you didn't know."

Kirk grinned. "You're probably right." He took another drink, then nestled himself back against the sofa. "So, what's the special occasion this time?"

The door buzzer sounded, and Kirk called for Spock to enter. McCoy responded as the door slid open, ignoring the interruption.

"Shore leave, my boy," he said happily. "Shore leave. One of the best reasons I can think of for a celebration."

Mr. Spock had barely raised an eyebrow upon entering the captain's quarters and finding McCoy lounging comfortably behind Kirk's desk, and it took only a brief instant for him to locate Kirk on the sofa and hand him the shift reports. But the opening seemed too much for even the Vulcan to resist.

"Really, Doctor?" he asked in his best adversarial tone. "I had no idea you sought a reason to consume your whiskey. I merely thought you were carrying on another old family tradition."

McCoy never lost the amused glint in his eyes as he looked from the captain to Spock, then back again.

"Who invited him to this party, anyway?"

Kirk shot him a disapproving glare as he finished signing the reports, then rose to hand them back to Spock.

"No one yet," he answered. "How about it, Spock? Care to join us?"

Spock appeared almost smug. "Thank you, Captain, but I think not. If you'll excuse me, sir..."

"Of course," Kirk said, somewhat disappointed. "Good night, Spock."

Spock nodded curtly toward McCoy. "Doctor," he said, then turned on his heel and strode through the doors into the corridor. Kirk watched after him a moment before turning back to McCoy.

"Why do you do that?" he asked wearily.

McCoy did his best to look innocent. "Do what?"

"Why do you antagonize him so much?"

McCoy offered him a shrug. "Sibling rivalry," he replied with a grin, reaching for the bottle to refill his empty glass.

"You make him uncomfortable."

"I didn't know a Vulcan could be uncomfortable." McCoy must have known his attempt at humor was not appeasing the captain, for he rolled his eyes in reluctant concession. "Look, Jim, if I didn't tease him about something or other, he'd probably think I was mad at him."

Kirk stared at his friend, then shook his head and moved to drop himself back onto the sofa. He rubbed his tired eyes.

"I just wish you'd try to get along with him."

"I get along with him better than you know," McCoy snapped grumpily. He took another swill of bourbon before he continued. "If you ask me, you're the one who should try a little harder to get along."

The statement came as a complete surprise to Kirk. He lowered his hand and gazed at the doctor inquisitively.

"With whom?"

"With yourself."

Now it was Kirk's turn to roll his eyes. Here we go, he thought. He had been hoping to make it to shore leave without another you're-only-a-man lecture from McCoy, but now that hope appeared to be wishful thinking at best.

McCoy swung his feet off the edge of the desk and leaned forward in his chair, his classic verbal combat position.

"Look at you," he said. "You've been running on pure adrenaline for damn near a month now. How long do you think you can keep up this pace? You're not eating right. You only sleep when you think you can spare a few minutes..."

"I don't need a nursemaid, Bones!" Kirk snapped, then suddenly wondered what he was so angry about. He had just been thinking the same thing himself a few minutes ago. Finally, more calmly, he said, "I'm just doing my job."

"Yeah...yours, mine and everyone else's." McCoy was adamant. "You know, if you don't stop pushing yourself so hard, you'll be dead before you're forty."

Kirk sipped at his drink, trying to control his flaring temper. McCoy had no idea how prophetic that statement might actually be. But the doctor was a good friend, and deep down Kirk knew he was right. The argument was an old one, though, one which Kirk knew would never be resolved to either's satisfaction. They were both too stubborn to back down.

"Do we have to argue about this?" he said finally. "We've only got a couple more days until shore leave. I can certainly last that long, can't I?"

McCoy sighed and leaned back in the chair, cradling his glass in his hands.

"I don't want to fight about it, either. I'll just lose again anyway." He remained silent a moment before finally asking, "So, have you selected a landing party for tomorrow yet?"

He appeared to be changing the subject. Kirk, however, was suspicious.

"Yes..." he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Why?"

"Just curious," McCoy shrugged. "Who'd you pick?"

Kirk knew where this was headed but decided to answer the question anyway. "Lieutenant Foster from Security; Ensign Graham..."

"The biologist," McCoy broke in, nodding his approval of the selection. "I know him. Kind of young, but he's a good man."

"...and Lieutenant Girard," Kirk continued, ignoring the interruption. "Geology."

McCoy continued to gaze at him, as if he expected more of a list. "And?"

Kirk was irritated now and made very little effort to hide it. "And me. What's your point, Doctor?"

"I think you just made my point... Captain," he replied calmly. "You have a ship full of people who could lead a research team that strong on the exploration of an uninhabited planet. Hell, let Spock do it. You know how he thrives on that stuff..."

"The decision's been made, Bones. I'd appreciate it if you would just drop the subject."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Kirk regretted the harshness of his tone. Outwardly, however, he did not waver.

McCoy stared at him solemnly. "All right," he finally conceded. "I just one have more thing to say, and after that, I'll never mention it again."

Kirk privately doubted that but continued to listen.

"If you believe your own press, you're a superman," McCoy said smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that Kirk wondered just how long he had rehearsed it. "But the cold, hard fact is you're a human being, just like everyone else. And even you are not indestructible."

"I know that," Kirk muttered, shifting his eyes from McCoy's steady gaze to stare at the bottom of his glass.

"Then do something about it. Ease up a little bit. Relax once in a while. Stop trying to act like you're larger than life."

Kirk pursed his lips and made a concentrated effort to hold his tongue. Leonard McCoy was as pig-headed as they come. He had to know that Kirk did not become the youngest captain in Starfleet history by easing up when the going got tough. He was also well aware that he had over four-hundred people depending on him, sometimes for their very lives. He couldn't always afford to be just life-sized.

Kirk finally allowed himself an audible sigh. "You're never going to stop harping on me about this, are you?"

"Oh, probably," he replied smugly. "About two days after I'm dead."

Kirk chuckled in weary defeat. "You know, Bones, that honestly wouldn't surprise me."

McCoy returned a grin of satisfaction as he lifted his glass in the air. "Truce?"

Kirk allowed a smile to cross his lips. Then he, too, raised his glass in a silent toast.

The Klingon officer straightened from his scanners and moved to stand at his commander's side on the bridge of the Imperial battle cruiser.

"Commander," he announced crisply. "The Enterprise is on course. Our estimated time for its arrival remains unchanged."

"Excellent," Kor responded, his eyes trained on the viewscreen before him. "Finally, I will have Kirk where I want him." A thin smile played on his lips, but there was no trace of humor in it.

The officer seemed to hesitate briefly. "Commander...how can you be certain that Kirk will transport to the surface?"

Kor decided to ignore the insolence of the question and slowly fingered his long mustache.

"Because I know him, Ketahl. His human arrogance would not allow him to remain merely a casual observer, even in the most routine of duties."

He could see the human's face clearly in his mind. He saw the confidence in the eyes, the hard line of determination in the jaw, the unremitting air of superiority in every line of his pale, human features.

He had been the ram among the sheep back then. Now it was time for the ram to face the wolf. Kor's smile broadened at the thought.

"He will come," he said finally. "And when he does, the Enterprise is mine."