Scene opens: We see Jim Kirk, in his command chair, on the bridge of the starship Enterprise. According to the displays all around him, all is well -- yet the captain's face shows a deep and abiding misery. He is not the only one. The entire bridge crew seems subdued. Visible signs remain, of hastily made repairs. Smoke damage is still visible here and there, on previously immaculate paint. Some of the consoles show obvious jury-rigged components, and everyone is moving as if they feel bone-weary...

[In the background the instrumental part begins; just a couple of guitars at first, picking along, tossing a melody back and forth, slowly expanding on the theme.]

The chronometer ticks over, and Kirk hands over the conn to his relief with visible gratitude. Suddenly it seems that he cannot wait to leave the bridge; the place that was always home to him is home no longer, in the wake of what has happened. In the turbolift, he hesitates for a moment, then orders it to take him to the observation deck.

Once there he punches in a time limit, and the door clicks locked behind him. He sighs, in apparent relief. Now that he is alone, his grief seems to hit him harder. As he walks over to the viewport his hands are trembling, and he clenches them into fists. It doesn't help.

He stands very close to the clearsteel sheet, hands braced on the supports, eyes fixed distantly on things that only he can see -- or can he? His eyes are very very bright -- but dry.

"Captains don't cry," he whispers to himself, clenching his fists again.

[The music has been gradually growing louder. Now faint swirls of images begin to form, upon the black velvet background of space. The camera pans inward, until all that we can see is those images. At first, they are only swirls of random colours, vague and undefined. But slowly they begin to take on form, and solidity.]

Kirk, standing on top of a bluff, looking down on a busy alien city below. And Spock standing beside him, black eyes flashing, austere face as animated as ever it got, deep in discussion, trying to communicate his point of view to his captain...

Spock gesturing toward the creature that had been Gary Mitchell, pronouncing sentence of death in that dry calm voice. Kirk shaking his head, refusing to hear.

The two of them standing in the briefing room, in dress uniform, nose to nose, arguing -- it is during Spock's court-martial, when he hijacked the Enterprise to take Captain Pike to Talos IV. They stand so close, almost touching -- but not.

[Voices, now, amid the music:
"There's a letter on my desktop, that I dug out of a drawer;
the last truth we ever came to, in our adolescent war..."]

Kirk's own hands, holding the tape Spock had left for him, the one McCoy had given him just this very morning. The tape he'd never thought to read, or need to. His knuckles are white, from the strength with which he clutches at it. As long as he doesn't read it, he can pretend it isn't real...

["And I start to feel a fever, from the warm air through the screen--
you come regular like seasons, shadowing my dreams..."]

More images: Spock walking down a hallway, striding easily beside him. Turning to look at him during a briefing, eyebrow raised in astonishment, or perhaps amusement at something he'd just said. Spock at his station on the bridge, bent over his viewer, fingers dancing gracefully across his keyboards...

A windswept corral in an oddly empty plain; leaves swirl around them, as slender Vulcan fingers reach for his face. And he is calm, for he knows already he can trust this man with his life, his safety, even his very soul.

Spock again, crouched beside the wounded Horta -- stoicly bearing its pain, that he might lend it his voice with which to speak...

["And the Mississippi's mighty, it starts in Minnesota,
at a place that you can walk across in five steps down.
And I guess that's how you started, like a pinprick to my heart--
but at this point you rush right through me and I start to drown..."]

The two of them running through the Organian night, sharing the bright fierce joy of totally focused action. There is only one path remaining before them, only one way they can act -- and they both know it. Death is the most likely result -- and it doesn't matter. They will be together, either way.

Running into the transporter room, to see for himself that Spock and the others are safe. And they are -- all five who remain alive have made it, even though Galileo has already burned up. They are tired, dirty, disheveled -- smoke stains their skin and their clothes -- but they are alive.

The look on Spock's face, the day he hands in his resignation. The end of that first five-year mission. So tired, he looks; so tired, and so discouraged. How flat his voice sounds, as he recites the speech he's planned about the need to return to Vulcan, to relearn the things he's lost -- to regain the disciplines that made him who he was. And all Kirk can do is shake his head, no. But it doesn't help. He uses every argument he knows, and none of them help. And in the end, all he can do is stand there and watch, as Spock walks out of the room, and out of his life.

["And there's not enough room in this world for my pain;
signals crossed and love gets lost and time passed makes it plain--
of all my demon spirits, I need you the most...
I'm in love with your ghost..."]

Spock and Kirk on shore leave, walking along a beach. Turquoise sky and silver clouds, and black sand laced with scarlet glitter. The Vulcan is pointing out something in the forest beside them, but Kirk only has eyes for his friend.

The smile Spock gave him, after Koon-ut-Kalifee -- gods, that smile damn near lit up the ship! Times on landing party duty; Spock, helping him take cover from a storm, cooking E-rations over a tiny bonfire; giving him and others first aid when McCoy wasn't there to do it.

Blurrier images, now. Other images, the kind that woke him in the night, cold with sweat, shivering, alone. Images of what he thought Spock's face might look like, if ever he let his controls drop. If ever he permitted himself to feel... Images he'd hardly dared to watch, even in the privacy of his own mind.

["Dark and dangerous like a secret that is whispered in a hush--
when I wake, the things I dreamt about you last night make me blush...
And you kissed me like a lover, and you sting me like a viper--
I will follow to the river, play your memory like a piper..."]

Kirk sitting at his desk, at the Admiralty. Tapes and reports are piled across its surface; the commset is flashing angrily -- but he pays no attention. He just stares out the window, watching the rain splashing off the glass, and sighs.

McCoy, angry, yelling at him, trying to get him to admit that taking a ground assignment was a mistake. But he pays no attention to him, either, and eventually, looking discouraged and angry, the doctor stomps out. Out of the room, and out of his life. Kirk doesn't seem to notice that, either. He just keeps staring out of the window.

["And I feel it like a sickness, how this love is killing me...
I'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly.
And dance the edge of sanity, I've never been this close--
I'm in love with your ghost..."]

Newsholos of Vejur; Nogura's face, offering him his ship again, his life again. Quickly, so quickly, he accepts; he is out the door and running before the Admiral finishes speaking.

And Spock -- walking onto the bridge, swathed in black Vulcan robes, and cold Vulcan logic. Spock, walking right past Uhura and Chapel, speaking to Kirk as if he were someone the Vulcan had never met before. And it doesn't matter, because he's here, he's back. And finally, just before he leaves the bridge, their eyes meet -- and the Vulcan mask slips, just a little. Just enough.

["Unknowing captive, you'll never know how much you kiss my spirit--
I can't touch you... Can you hear it, a cry to be free...
Oh, I'm forever under lock and key, as you pass through me..."]

The Genesis Tape; the bright flash of interest on that calm Vulcan face. Meeting David for the first time, a grown man; pride Kirk cannot help feeling even though the boy, the man, will not speak to him.

Seeing Khan again. Khan's handiwork on the Genesis station. The fear, until David and Carol are discovered, still alive. Pride again, when Spock pulls a rabbit out of the hat, and them out of that asteroid. Even David looks impressed, though he obviously tries to hide it.

Terrell, putting a phaser to his head and firing it. Chekov, screaming in agony, passing out. The look of disgust on McCoy's face, as he pulls that *thing* from the younger man's ear. Spock's eyes meeting his, grim, too calm.

Battle. Hiding in the Mutara Nebula, playing submarine warfare with starships. Shots fired, hits taken. Sparks and smoke and alarms blaring... A countdown -- and a reprieve.

And McCoy, calling him, telling him he'd better get down to Engineering, *now*.

["Now I see your face before me, I would launch a thousand ships;
bring your heart back to my island, as the sand beneath me slips.
As I burn up in your presence, and I know now how it feels,
to be weakened like Achilles, with you always at my heels..."]

Engineering redlit, full of smoke, barriers closed where he normally would walk. The poisonous green glow of radiation, glittering against the plasteel -- and Spock. *Behind* it. Burned. Dying. He reaches. Spock reaches -- but they cannot touch. They can only look at one another. Share a few, all too few, quiet words. And Spock falls to his knees. Sits on the floor. Slumps against the plasteel barrier, hand outstretched.

But they cannot touch.

Hours later, when they can finally open the containment. The ship is safe. Khan is defeated. And it is too late. It was too late before he ever walked into Engineering. He falls to his knees, but Scotty is there, holding him back, telling him what he already knows. To touch would bring his own death. He tries, anyway -- he doesn't care. But they don't let him.

Standing at attention, as the piper plays. Watching, as the sleek black torpedo casing slides away and out. He can't make himself believe it, not really. It can't be true.

It is.

["And my bitter pill to swallow is the silence that I keep;
it washes me, I can't swim free, the river is too deep...
And I'm baptised by your touch, I am no worse than most--
in love with your ghost, in love with, shadowing my dreams, in love with your ghost..."]

[The music slowly fades to a simple guitar again, and then silence. And the camera pans back and we see Kirk, slumped now upon the floor, one hand still hooked on the frame of the viewport. Only now, his face is wet. He makes no sound at all, nor does he open his eyes. And slowly, the scene fades to black.]