Disclaimer: Star Trek and all of its characters are the property of Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: sequel to "A Ship's Captain"

Time frame: immediately following the conclusion of the original five year mission

Many thanks to Djinn for her quick and excellent beta.
Sacrifice and Need
By Rocky

A loud bang reverberated from the other side of the apartment door, followed by a muffled curse. McCoy hesitated, not sure whether he should signal again, or perhaps use his medical emergency override. He was saved from his quandary when the door opened suddenly.

"What happened to you, Jim?" he blurted out, somewhat taken aback by the sight of his former captain with his thumb in his mouth.

Kirk hastily removed the digit. "The damn thing collapsed," he said, gesturing sourly over his shoulder.

McCoy followed him into the living room and stopped short; from the scattered shelving on the floor, he surmised that Kirk had been attempting to assemble a storage unit.

"Well, don't just stand there, Bones, give me a hand will you?"

McCoy shook his head and, shifting the weight of the potted plant in his arms, looked around for a nearby surface that appeared relatively stable. He settled for a small end table and deposited his burden. "Sorry, Jim, I'm a doctor, not an--"

"Engineer," finished Kirk with a chagrined smile. "I know, I know..."

"Best call Scotty," McCoy said, "unless it's medical attention you're after." He looked pointedly at Kirk's hand. "Want me to take a look at that?"

"Not necessary. I don't think anything beyond my pride has been seriously injured." Kirk glanced down at the table. "What's this?"

"It's a cyclamen. Blooms continuously from November through--"

"You brought me a houseplant?"

McCoy stepped carefully over a pile of boxes and made his way to the couch. "Yes, I know you haven't seen many of these in the last five years, except in the arboretum, but now that the Enterprise is undergoing a major refit, you'll have an opportunity to stop and smell the roses for a bit. Relatively speaking, of course."

"A plant," Kirk repeated.

"What's the matter with it?"

Kirk shrugged. "Nothing. I thought you'd bring something a little more practical, that's all."

"This is practical," McCoy said. "Cyclamens are pretty hardy, they don't need much watering--just the opposite in fact--and they do best in moderately cool temperatures. Since you're not the type to fuss over houseplants, I figured I'd give you something that can handle a bit of neglect."

"A bottle of Saurian brandy or Romulan ale also doesn't need much looking after."

"That's because they disappear pretty quickly." McCoy glanced around the room, noting that despite the boxes lining the walls, the apartment still conveyed a sense of 'home.' A small model of a starship perched on the windowsill; a few framed holographs were scattered about. Through an open doorway he glimpsed a neatly made bed. "So, despite your shelving unit, you look like you're settling in pretty well."

"I am, thanks." Kirk nudged a box over with his foot and sat down on a nearby chair. "And what about you? Now that the final debriefings and meetings are over, are you planning on staying in the Bay area?"

McCoy shook his head. "Just till the end of the week. I've found a place back in Georgia, right outside of Macon."

"Along with a practice?" Kirk asked casually.

"I always said I was nothing but an old country doctor," McCoy said with a smile. "And it'll be nice staying in one place for a while and not having to worry about my molecules being scrambled by any infernal contraptions." He leaned back comfortably and stretched. "I was never as gung-ho about space as the rest of you, but who knows, maybe after a few years of peace and quiet, I'll have changed my mind."

Kirk laughed. "Admit it, Bones--you won't be able to live without the excitement." McCoy snorted. "Seriously, though, there's no need to go so far away in the meantime--you could always have a place at Starfleet Medical." He added, "They'd be glad to have you, you know."

"I've had enough of the bureaucracy, thanks."

Kirk stood and rubbed his lower back ruefully. "I'm not being a very good host--can I offer you something to drink?"

"That would be nice, thank you," McCoy said and watched his former captain retreat into the kitchen. He gazed out the window; the relatively small size of the living room was more than made up for by the expansive view of the distant hills.

"Coffee or beer?" Kirk yelled from the other room.

"Interesting choice," McCoy said with a chuckle. "I'll take the beer--if it's cold."

"Coming right up." True to his word, a few seconds later Kirk thrust a bottle at him and then popped the top off one of his own and sat back down with a sigh. "It's a good thing you didn't say coffee, unless you wanted it black."

McCoy smiled. "I take it you haven't had a chance to stock up on groceries yet." He eyed the boxes at their feet. "Or finish unpacking."

"No, I haven't," Kirk said somewhat apologetically. "I've been spending a lot of time at HQ--including this morning. Of course, if I'd managed to get that damn unit set up"--he shot a withering glance at the collapsed shelves--"I'd be a lot further along in getting this place into shape."

"Yes, there's certainly a lot going on at HQ these days," McCoy said. "They say the refit of the Enterprise is going to take a good 18 months, if not longer." He paused for a moment, watching Kirk carefully as he drank. "I suppose you've been keeping pretty close tabs on how it's coming along."

Kirk grunted non-committedly and pressed the cool bottle to his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Though you undoubtedly have other things to keep you busy as well," McCoy said, discarding his empty bottle. When Kirk didn't respond, he continued, "I heard that you took a spot in Field Operations."

"Yes, I did." Kirk opened his eyes. "Want another beer?"

McCoy hesitated--it was still pretty early--but then his thirst won out. "Sure, Jim. I'd appreciate it."

"No problem," Kirk said, already on his way to the kitchen. He was back within seconds. "Here you go."

McCoy nodded his thanks. "You'd better be careful," he warned, only partially joking. "Positions at HQ tend to become semi-permanent because no one really wants them."

Kirk took a long swallow before answering. "That's exactly the kind of thinking that's wrong, Bones--Field Operations, the allocation of our resources where they can do the most good, is extremely important. Not just to Starfleet but to the overall well-being of the Federation." He paused. "It's a pity that no one, even former 'Fleeters, appreciates just how vital it is."

McCoy frowned, wondering if that comment about former officers had been a subtle dig on Kirk's part. "I thought that exploration, like the just successfully concluded mission of the Enterprise--how did you put it at the medal ceremony? 'To seek out new life and civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before'--is the key."

Kirk waved his hand dismissively. "The Enterprise is just one ship. Multiply by the rest of the Constitution class ships, plus the new classes being developed and deployed. Operations isn't concerned with a single five year mission, but dozens of them. The strategists' job is to capitalize on the gains made by the field commanders, consolidate the Federation, strengthen it. As well as plan how to best continue pushing back the final frontier." Perhaps realizing he sounded as though he were lecturing a recalcitrant recruit, he added with a smile, "Someone's got to make sure we expend our efforts wisely."

"'Allocating resources' is another name for establishing a presence in key areas in the quadrant," McCoy said, thoughtfully. He glanced at his half-empty bottle, watching the rivulets of moisture run down the side. "Reminds me of the old debate about Starfleet, were our aims scientific or military? Some would say we're soldiers first and explorers only second." He shifted his glance to Kirk and saw an irritated expression flit across the other man's face. "Though it hasn't been entirely our fault," he added hastily. "Take some of our run-ins with the Klingons, for example. Some folks would rather fight than talk."

"There's no dichotomy in Starfleet," Kirk said quietly. "The fusion of those goals--scientific as well as military, promoting peace as well as free trade--is our mission. What's necessary in this day and age is to remind the new generation of that."

"So you're fixin' to do a little creatin' in your own image."

Kirk made no attempt to deny it. "I know what's worked for me." He placed his own bottle on the table and got to his feet. For a moment he looked as though he were about to begin pacing. Finally, his eyes met McCoy's squarely. "And yes, I've been asked to help implement that vision."

McCoy's jaw dropped. For a split-second he wondered if the alcohol had clouded his brain and perhaps he hadn't heard correctly. "So it's true then, the rumors that have been floating around HQ--you've been named Chief of Fleet Operations."

"Yes. "

"What about your career, your ambitions?" McCoy asked, striving to keep his voice level.

"We've got to mold the next generation of officers, make sure they carry out their mission--"

"What about James T. Kirk and his mission?" McCoy interrupted. "Surely it's not over?"

"It's not over, it's simply changed."

"You're making a mistake," McCoy said bluntly. "You weren't meant to sit on the sidelines, Jim, to tell others how to go about doing what you're itching to do yourself." He stood up and advanced until his face was only inches from Kirk's. "Are you trying to say you've had enough of commanding a ship? That you're ready to call it quits?"

"I was the youngest captain in the history of Starfleet," Kirk said, a slight edge to his voice.

"And so now you're bucking to be the youngest admiral?" McCoy shook his head vehemently. "Jim, don't you remember what it was like when the VIP's used to come aboard Enterprise, how out of touch they were? And how we resented them for it?"

Kirk laughed, but it was not entirely a natural sound. "This is different."

"How so?" McCoy wanted to know.

"They need me, Bones," Kirk said quietly. He laid his hand on McCoy's shoulder. "Starfleet is at a crossroads now and I'm the right man in the right spot to make a difference."

McCoy resisted the urge to fling off that hand. Instead, he said scornfully, "So that's how they got to you, got you to agree to give up everything meaningful to you, everything that makes you the man you are today. By saying they need you."

Kirk didn't flinch. "All my life it's been like that, Bones. You know that. I swore an oath to serve and if this is the way I can best serve the interests of Starfleet--"

"No!" McCoy took a deep breath and then literally and figuratively stepped back a few paces, cursing himself for taking that second beer. He couldn't control the pleading note in his voice as he said, "Can't you see, Jim, you're giving up too much!"

"This isn't the first time I've been asked to make a few sacrifices," Kirk reminded him. "All of us have. There isn't a single person in uniform, past or present, who hasn't given up a lot for the sake of the Fleet."

A series of images of his own losses flashed briefly through McCoy's mind. The crumbling edifice of his marriage, missing his daughter growing up--With an effort, he fought down those painful memories. "Some things are too much to ask, Jim. This sacrifice will destroy you. "

Kirk gave him a sharp look. "That's a ridiculous thing to say."

"Is it? When you spend your days tied to a desk, telling others to do what you can never do again yourself? To never see the stars at warp--just as stationary lights in the sky--week after week, month after month, year after--"

"I get the point--"

"You were born to command a starship, Captain, to be out there on the cutting edge, not to be a damn paper pusher!"

"That's enough!" Kirk's voice rose precipitously. "And it's Admiral now."

"Did Nogura present this 'promotion' to you as some kind of reward? Hell, if he wanted to give you something of value, he'd send you right back out there as soon as possible."

With a visible effort, Kirk calmed down. "I've never shirked from doing my duty. You above all others should know that."

McCoy stared at him for a long moment, trying to understand. Trying to adopt a more conciliatory tone, he said, "I know how much this five year mission took out of you, Jim, all the losses you've had. It'd be one thing if you simply wanted to rest, take a vacation from the rigors and demands of the ship. But you've already got that--it'll be a long time before the Enterprise is ready to go back in space. Just don't make it a permanent break--" He stopped short, and bit his lip. "I can't help but wonder if this has anything to do with Spock leaving for Gol so suddenly--"

"There's no connection," Kirk said immediately.

It sounded too pat to McCoy's ears. He didn't know the full story of why that blasted Vulcan had felt compelled to run off right after their mission was completed, but he did know that it had hurt Kirk deeply. The captain had acted like he'd lost his best friend. And maybe he just couldn't see himself on the Enterprise anymore without Spock at his side.

Before he could say any of this, however, Kirk swung out on the offensive. "What about your own retirement from Starfleet?"

McCoy stiffened, but it was a fair question. "As you know, I was never in it for the same reasons as the rest of you," he said evenly, remembering the day Kirk had come to him and asked him to join his crew as his CMO, back when Mark Piper had announced his intention to retire. "I need you," Kirk had said. "C'mon, it'll be an adventure." "I'm not interested in thrills," McCoy had responded at the time. Now he said aloud, "Yes, I've come up with some medical innovations--"

"You've made some very valuable contributions," Kirk corrected him.

"--and had plenty of excitement," McCoy continued, as he slumped into a chair, suddenly exhausted, and focused his gaze on the hills outside, "but I can 'serve mankind' just as well where I am now."

"You sure that's all there is to it?" Kirk said pointedly. "Maybe you don't want to admit that you're tired, that you've decided you have other priorities now."

McCoy looked up, surprised by Kirk's perception, but then again, his former captain had always had unerring instincts about what made people tick. It was one of the qualities that made the man such a natural leader. Which was why his blindness concerning his own situation was so puzzling--and infuriating. "I admit that yes, there is a personal component to my decision," McCoy said slowly. "To be perfectly honest, I'd like to try and recapture some of the things I lost, that I gave up for Starfleet." Once again he remembered the shock of seeing the little girl he'd left behind all those years ago, now suddenly a grown up young lady who'd clearly done just fine without him as a presence in her life. He closed his eyes at the unexpected prickling of tears.

McCoy felt Kirk's hand come down on his shoulder, give a comforting squeeze. "It's not always easy--or even possible--to recapture the past," Kirk said gently.

"Exactly," McCoy said gruffly, rubbing his hand over his face. He rose to his feet, never taking his eyes off Kirk's. "Jim, if you take this step now, walk away from your command, you'll never get it back." Kirk opened his mouth to object, but McCoy pressed on. "How will it feel, letting the Enterprise go out again under a new captain? You love that ship, Jim, she's a part of you--just as much as Spock and I and the rest of the crew have been, maybe even more so. This is what you've always been about. How can you just walk away from it now?"

Kirk ignored the latter part of McCoy's statement. "I've put in a recommendation for Will Decker to take the Enterprise."

"Matt's son?"

"Yes. She'll be in good hands, Bones. You know that as well as I do."

McCoy was rendered momentarily speechless, wondering if this gesture was born of guilt on Kirk's part. Matt Decker had made the ultimate sacrifice; the Commodore had lost his entire crew to the so-called 'Doomsday Machine' yet had ultimately found a way to destroy the infernal weapon, giving up his own life in the process. Truth be told, that's how McCoy had always expected Kirk to go out one day--dying heroically to save his ship.

"Jim," he said urgently. "I'm asking you again--don't do this."

"Sorry, Bones. It's already done."

"It's not right," McCoy insisted. "Don't you remember, we once talked about something like this--it was after that idiot Stocker nearly got us all killed by ordering the Enterprise into the Romulan Neutral Zone. Do you recall what you said afterwards?"

"I said--"

"You told me to kick your ass if you ever did anything so stupid as to give up your command. Don't you remember how you felt then?"

A look of uncertainty crossed Kirk's features for a split second, and then hardened into resolve. "Situations change, Bones, as do the people involved. Just because something was once the case doesn't mean it is so now." He paused for a moment, as if to give his words greater emphasis.  "I'm sorry if you don't understand, but I know I'm doing the right thing."

McCoy turned away, assailed by sudden doubt. Kirk sounded so sure--could he possibly be right? And then McCoy's own instincts kicked in, and he was more convinced than ever that Kirk was making a major mistake. But like it or not, it was Kirk's mistake to make. His decision, not McCoy's.

With an effort, he said, "Well, I see I'm not going to change your mind, so there's no reason for me to stick around any longer." He started toward the door, but couldn't resist one last parting shot. "I swear to God, I just hope you don't regret this one day."

Kirk smiled confidently. "I learned a long time ago not to look back, Bones. That I've got to keep looking forward if I want to get anywhere."

"Yes," McCoy said, "provided you know where you're going."
FINIS

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