Summary:  At the end of the five-year mission, Kirk tries to come to grips with Spock's sudden departure. 

Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom (now that's a pairing) own the Boys and all things Trek.  Tim Hardin, and possibly Rod Stewart, own the song, "Reason To Believe".  The only thing I own is my soul and a packed hard drive. 

Comments:  Yeah, it's been done to death, but... one...more...time!  Besides, if you squint real hard and tilt your head to one side, it might look a little different.  This is one of my favorite songs for depression.  I've wailed it in the shower, I've howled it at the moon.  Never does help. 

This has never been posted on either ASC or ASCEM because I've never been really satisfied with it. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 
REASON TO BELIEVE 
 

The lights on the Golden Gate Bridge shine halos through the San Francisco fog outside James T. Kirk's window.  Entering his apartment, Kirk removes his uniform tunic, throws it carelessly over the back of a chair, and stretches to ease a day's worth of kinks born of endless debriefings.  He notices the blinking light on his computer and, sitting down, accesses his messages.  Paging through a series of routine communications and reports, Kirk defers them one by one, until he comes to a post bearing Spock's name.  He grins and brings it up on screen.  Almost immediately, the grin fades, replaced by a look of disbelief.  His eyes are riveted by a single, inconceivable word:  "resignation." 

As the music rises, Jim begins to make a series of fruitless and increasingly frantic calls. 

     If I listened long enough to you 
     I'd find a way to believe that it's all true 

In the early dawn, outside the gates of the Vulcan Embassy, Jim pleads over the comlink.  On a small screen in the gatepost, an impassive Vulcan aide signals that the conversation is at an end.  The screen goes blank.  Jim signals again and again.  There is no answer. 

     Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried 
     Still I look to find a reason to believe 

Kirk stands before Admiral Nogura's desk, his lips tightly drawn.  The Admiral speaks to him, repeating a question.  Slowly Kirk turns his eyes toward him, seeming to look through him.  Then he shakes his head, almost to himself, and turning abruptly, stalks out of the office, leaving a frustrated Nogura behind him. 

     Someone like you makes it hard to live without 
     Somebody else 

McCoy argues with Jim in the corridors of HQ.  When he grabs his friend's arm, Jim throws him off and storms away.  McCoy yells after him down the hall as startled lieutenants and attaches stop to stare. 

     Someone like you makes it easy to give 
     Never think about myself 

Beneath the battlements of Gol, a small figure pounds on the massive gates.  The only answer is the glaring sun and the wind on the sands. 

     If I gave you time to change my mind 
     I'd find a way just to leave the past behind 

In the main conference room at HQ, the newly-minted Admiral Kirk sits among his fellow department heads.  Junior officers and aides scurry to and fro around the table; their whispered communications form a steady hum.  Kirk does not hear them.  A briefing is in progress on the screen, but Kirk pays no attention to it.  His face is lifeless, his eyes are far away. 

     Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried 
     Still I look to find a reason to believe 

Clad in civilian clothes, Jim sits alone in a dimly lit dive.  A woman approaches and leans her back against the bar beside him.  She speaks to him.  He turns to look at her.  She speaks again, then, seeing something dark and dangerous in his eyes, quickly leaves to find safer game. 

     Someone like you makes it hard to live without 
     Somebody else 

Jim turns back to the bar.  His fingers close around the shot glass.  In one swift motion, he downs the drink.  He raps the glass on the bar.  The bartender refills his drink.  Jim snarls and takes the bottle from him, setting it on the bar next to the glass. 

     Someone like you makes it easy to give 
     Never think about myself 

Drunk and disheveled, Jim paces back and forth in his apartment.  He stops before the unfinished game on the chess set and randomly picks up a piece.  He stares out the window and turns the piece over in his hand before looking down at it.  A white knight.  He clutches it tightly, closing his eyes in a grimace of pain, then, lashing out, sends the board crashing to the floor.  The scattered pieces fly across the room. 

     If I listened long enough to you 

Returning to his desk, Jim keys the computer and calls up a picture of Spock, a casual snapshot.  The dark eyes seem to be looking directly into Jim's. 

     I'd find a way to believe that it's all true 

Jim leans forward to touch the screen.  His lips from the name, "Spock". 

     Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried 

Jim clasps his hands and lowers his head to the desk. 

     Still I look to find a reason to believe. 

On the computer screen, the image of Spock continues to look down at him. 

     Still I look to find a reason to believe. 

In the background, outside the window, the fog rolls in across the bay. 

FADE OUT.