Imprint

Imprint
Chapter Eight


Ambassador Sarek’s solemn visage stared at Kirk across the vid screen. “It has been approximately five days since our last communication and you report no significant progress in reversing my son’s condition.”

“No, Ambassador.” Kirk almost apologized, but after Sarek’s last lecture on the illogic of expressing regret, he held back. “From a medical standpoint, he’s healthy.”

“I am aware, as you have repeated this fact a number of times. Four to be exact, with variations in terminology.”

Mouth forming a tight line, Kirk prayed for patience. “I’m more concerned with how he’s coping.”

“Perhaps your lack of progress errs from misappropriated concern. If you focused less on his acceptance of Vulcan’s loss and more on his physical alteration, you might have something of significance to report by our next communication.”

Kirk had exhausted excuses for the Vulcan ambassador long ago. He’d tried to tell himself that the man was just being a concerned parent. Spock was his only child, and only family for all Kirk knew. It wasn’t working anymore. He was losing his patience. The worst part of dealing with Sarek was that he couldn’t detect a shred of animosity in the man. Sarek was simply stating the facts. The bluntness of the delivery just happened to grate on his nerves.

With his last thread of patience holding firm, he explained, “It stands to reason that the only way we can change Spock back is with the Thelosian relic. Until I can get my hands on that device, Spock might be stuck like this. My science and medical departments are dedicated to finding anything that’ll help, but in the meantime, I’m still concerned about how he’s dealing with Vulcan.”

After a long moment, Sarek bowed his head. “That is logical.”

Kirk sent up a silent hallelujah.

“Your efforts are adequate. As always, I ask to remain apprised of further developments. My security clearance has been instated.”

“I already sent you the mission report.”

Sarek glanced downward as his hands moved over the console. “Indeed. It has arrived.”

“Do you want me to put Spock on?”

“Yes.”

Kirk craned a look around his command chair. “Lieutenant, transfer the ambassador to Spock’s quarters.”

“Transferring,” Uhura said.

“I’ll talk to you again soon, Ambassador,” Kirk said in parting.

“Live long and prosper, Captain Kirk.”

The screen went blank. Kirk assumed Spock had picked up. He slumped back in his seat, taking a moment to relax stiff muscles before he sat straight again. He retrieved his datapad from his lap and read over the proposal he’d been drafting all morning.

ooo

Upon seeing Spock, Sarek understood Captain Kirk’s concerns. Grey circles underscored dark brown eyes. Amanda’s eyes. Tired and lost and far away from a home that no longer existed. “You appear fatigued.”

“I have found meditation difficult,” Spock said.

“Understandable.” Sarek hesitated in making his next proposal. The inclination to tend to his son’s needs conflicted with his responsibility as ambassador. Starfleet had granted him clearance based on his diplomatic status, not because he was father to an officer involved. “If Captain Kirk is agreeable, I will arrange for an adept to rendezvous with the Enterprise and aid your meditations.”

“That is unnecessary, Father.”

Sarek would not insist on the arrangement. There was little point unless Spock was willing. “Very well. The offer will remain should you find it necessary at a later date.”

“Your efforts are appreciated.”

Sarek remained silent for a long moment. He chose his words carefully, mindful of the sentiment they conveyed. “I would do all that is within my means, Spock. You are my son.”

Spock barely had time to process his father's words before the man raised his hand in parting.

“I will speak with you again in three days' time. Live long and prosper, my son.”

“Peace and long life, Father,” Spock replied, wonderment sneaking past his impassive expression.


ooo


Kirk forded through the maze of Scotty's engineering department. He caught sight of Keenser squatting atop an inter-matrix chamber. “Lieutenant Keenser,” he called to grab the engineer's attention. “I'm looking for Scotty.”

Inky black eyes seemed to laugh. “Take the next right, sir.”

“Carry on,” Kirk said with a wave of his hand.

Kirk found Scotty and Chekov arguing in front of a long screen panel on the wall in the Scotsman’s office. He recognized the satellite imaging of Thelos. On another screen, a closer image displayed the region around Belmar. The river he'd plunged into was little more than a silver vein. Portions of the map were shaded in red. The rest was the color of a purple bruise. If his mission on Thelos hadn't turned into a clusterfuck, he would have remembered it as the purple planet.

“I could use good news, Scotty,” Kirk said, announcing his presence.

Mid-tirade, Scotty gaped at the captain. “Good news is hard to come by these days, Cap'n.”

Chekov's sour expression turned plaintive at the sight of the captain. “Ve vere discussing the possibility of scattering the sonar.”

Scotty cut the air with each word to emphasize his point. “And if ye scatter the ping, it'll come back as a garbled mess.”

“Nyet,” Chekov said. “I am knowing how to fix that.”

Kirk approached the nearest console, the image of Belmar. He pointed to areas shaded in red. “What’s with the red?”

“That would be where we haven't mapped yet. Pinging sound waves is a slow going process, ye ken.”

“Faster if ve scatter the sound.”

“Inaccurate if we scatter the sound.”

Kirk was left to make the final call. He gave Scotty an apologetic look. “Faster is better. I trust Chekov to get you an accurate reading. We've still got a man down there.” And two corpses, his mind added.

Scotty crossed his arms. “Aye, a man who might get overlooked when inaccurate readings sketch over the rebel's base.”

Kirk had already been over the older maps. Nose nearly pressed to the screen, he studied the plain like he did a chessboard. Close at first, then he took a step back. He tapped a finger to a region northeast of the city. The console marked his touch with a black dot. “Here,” he said. “Give it a wide radius, but focus here.” That was where the rebels had been marching him. He could only estimate the placement, but there was too much shaded in red and it had already been five days. Command wouldn't even think of letting him attempt a rescue mission unless he knew exactly where Eldridge was being held.

“Aye, that’s what I was afraid of. I’ve been pinging that area from the get-go. There’re less trees mucking it up, but the rocks make the readings screwy. Too many uneven bits and wacky elevations.”

Kirk nodded. The terrain had been difficult to navigate by foot; rises and falls, gorges and boulders. It would be infinitely worse along the valley’s ridge. “Keep at it.” Sonar was a primitive last resort, but it worked. He continued to study the incomplete composite. “Chekov, call in your replacement for your shift. I want you here with Scotty. You two are our best hope of getting the ambassador back alive.”

Both men straightened. Chekov even snapped a salute.

“Yes, sir.”

“Aye, we'll get that sniveling politician back for ye.”

Kirk grinned. “That's all I ask.”

ooo

From engineering, Kirk made his way to sickbay. He caught Bones coming out of his office. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

“Lucky me.” McCoy’s wayward hair and heavy eyes told of his night spent reading more medical journals than he could spit at. There was nothing even remotely similar to Spock’s condition. Websites had tagged his cache of key search words and had begun to advertise beauty creams that promised younger looking skin.

Smile dim and eyes sober, Kirk said, “I'd like your advice.”

McCoy gave Jim a considering look. “This official business?”

“Unofficially official. I'm worried about Spock.”

“Personal, then,” McCoy said. Jim doted over that boy like a mother hen. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

“Bones, I'm asking for help. Don't make me regret it.”

That stung. McCoy scowled and surveyed the bay. He took Jim's arm and steered him away from his office. “I was in surgery and missed lunch. I'm betting you just plain skipped it.”

ooo

Kirk and McCoy were soon seated across from each other at a small table in the corner of the mess hall. It was after the usual lunch hour, but still moderately crowded.

McCoy started the conversation by saying, “We're doing all we can, Jim.”

“I know. That's not what this is.” Kirk shuffled the rice on his tray around with his fork. “I was thinking maybe Spock should see someone, like a therapist.”

Water half raised to his lips, McCoy froze. “What?”

“You've got the psyche degree. Am I overreacting?”

Without taking a sip, McCoy set his water back down. “No,” he said. “I just didn't think you'd want to plan for the long term.”

“I don't, but it could be weeks before Command pulls their heads out of their asses.”

McCoy laughed and dug into his meal. The spaghetti was half decent. “It's only been five days now. Therapy might be jumping the gun.”

“He's not talking to Uhura.” Kirk mounded his rice back up. “He's holed up in his room. I don't think he's sleeping.”

“What makes you think he'll talk to a complete stranger if he won't open up to Uhura?”

Kirk shrugged, eyes still on his rice. “It doesn't have to be an actual therapy session. I thought you or Dr. Stayfield would know of something.”

McCoy was only mildly surprised that Jim knew the name of the ship's psychologist. “Like what? And quit playing with your food. Just eat it.”

After swallowing a dutiful mouthful of rice, Kirk said, “There are ways of dealing that don’t involve someone asking leading questions and humming sympathetically. He needs some kind of outlet.”

“I'll talk to Dr. Stayfield, see what she thinks.”

“Thanks.”

“You owe me,” McCoy said, jabbing his fork at Jim. “That woman's been trying to psychoanalyze me from day one.”

“I could save her the trouble. I know you're a crazy bastard.”

“Pot meet kettle, you infant.” The snarky reply drew a genuine laugh from Jim that made McCoy smile.

ooo

Two days later, Kirk had the final piece of the puzzle that would convince Command to consider his plan of action. Scotty and Chekov had located the base camp. They were still running coordinates, afraid of overlooking something critical, like a giant missile silo or some crop circles.

Kirk was caught unaware by Admiral Pike's call. “Patch it through,” he told the comm officer on beta shift. He felt the need to perch on the edge of his seat. He tugged his shirt to straighten any wrinkles. A button on the console's pad lit up and the screen flashed that he had an incoming call. He accepted it, curious and anxious at the reason behind the admiral's call.

Gunmetal eyes traveled over Kirk's features. Pike couldn't possibly see much more than his face, but he still felt laid bare. “Admiral Pike,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Pike smirked. “I heard about you through the grapevine.” Komack had been overeager to relate news of Kirk's failure.

“That took longer than I expected. I'm losing my touch.”

Smirk widening, Pike's eyes crinkled with warmth. “I also read the proposal you sent. A special ops retrieval. It's a hell of a read. It'd be a hell of a thing to pull off, too.”

“You've also read the mission reports, I assume,” Kirk said. He waited for Pike's answering nod before he continued. “We're making headway on finding the remaining encampments. We can't get a signal off Eldridge, but we can still cut through the interference enough to transport someone if they have a locater beacon. It can work.”

“I agree. Command agrees too. The problem is that you don't just want to drop in and get Ambassador Eldridge out. You want to keep a team there to find something that the Federation can't sanction you to take.”

“Sir, it may be the only way to help Spock.”

Pike held up a hand. “I understand that, son. You're stuck between a rock and a hard place.” He cleared his throat and edged closer to the screen. “Change your proposal. Leave out any mention of that relic.”

“Sir-”

“Listen to me,” Pike said. “Change the proposal. Command isn't going to approve it unless it's changed.” Blue eyes were dangerously bright, anger ready to lash out. “Now, you also said that Eldridge and the relic would probably be in the same location.”

Kirk's anger dissolved, replaced by understanding.

“Get Eldridge. For all anyone knows, the ambassador was carrying the thing in his pocket and you couldn't possibly have known when you brought him aboard.”

Laughter escaped Kirk and he had to take a moment to get it all out. “Starfleet doesn't need to worry half as much about me as they do you.”

“This conversation never happened.”

Kirk saluted.

“Be careful, son. Whatever happens, it's on you.”

“I know.”

The lines in Pike's face deepened. He nodded, satisfied that Kirk understood the weight of the situation.

No sooner had the screen returned to its usual clear panel than Kirk’s door chimed. “Come in.”

The door slid open and revealed Uhura. She stopped in the middle of the room. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, have a seat.” Kirk realized too late that scattered datachips littered the single chair in front of his desk. “Just move those.”

Uhura ignored the chair and opted to stand. The lines of her mouth were tight with worry. Hair pleated into a long rope draped over her shoulder. “Spock's session with Dr. Stayfield didn't go well.”

The air chilled in Kirk's lungs. “How bad?”

At a loss for what to do with her hands, Uhura clasped and unclasped them before she gripped the edge of the captain's desk. “He threw a chess set against the wall.”

“Is the doctor okay?” A violent outburst from Spock was not unknown to Kirk. He almost raised a hand to his throat in memory.

“She’s fine. He wasn’t aiming at her, just the wall.”

Kirk caught a knowing look in Uhura’s eye. “You know something?”

“Spock used to play chess with his mom. It was their ritual. At the academy, every Friday night, they played over a live feed.”

Kirk deflated. A sigh hissed past his teeth. “Did Stayfield know this?”

“No. She had the set there because she uses it in sessions sometimes. She wasn’t using it for Spock, but he saw it and snapped.”

Hands steepled, Kirk bowed his head and appeared to be in prayer. He hated that he felt burdened by this latest stunt. He wished he had more patience, but he was stretched thin. Recalling the look of utter hopelessness on Spock's face when he'd come to him in sickbay, he knotted together his frayed edges and mustered the energy to deal with this latest problem. “What does Stayfield suggest?”

Realizing that this might be a longer conversation than she'd anticipated, Uhura cleared the chair and set the gathered datachips on the captain's already cluttered desk. Her eyes absorbed the mountain of reading material. Scotty had been promoted to Acting First Officer, but was so consumed with finishing the composite of Thelos that she doubted he had time for anything else. The captain had no one helping him, no first officer to delegate work to.

Suddenly, Uhura felt guilty for running to Kirk with news of the therapy incident. The captain had enough to deal with. “Stayfield suggested a journal log. She didn't expect Spock to open up, but she'd hoped to gauge his temperament. Being that he's Vulcan, she thinks he needs to deal with his grief alone.”

Kirk scoffed and rubbed his temple. “How's he doing now?”

Uhura's own grief reared its head when she remembered Spock's cold gaze. The boy had ignored her, even as she trailed him back to his quarters. He'd slipped inside his room without so much as a backwards glance. “I don't know. He won't talk to me.”

“At all?” Kirk couldn’t hide his surprise. Spock had been limited with words, but still willing to talk to him.

“Not after I came to get him from Stayfield's office.”

“I'm sorry,” Kirk offered. Uhura was still shaken by Spock's sharp dismissal the night he'd unearthed news of Vulcan's destruction.

A winsome smile broke the heavy moment. Uhura held firm to her composure. “It's not really Spock. Not the man I know.”

“Uhura,” Kirk began, not certain the lieutenant should build her hopes around such a unsteady belief, “who do you know that wasn't moody at thirteen? Can you imagine Bones at that age?”

This earned a laugh. When the moment passed, her smile fell. “Will you see him?”

“Of course.” Kirk hadn't seen Spock since lunch the previous day.

Uhura stood and straightened her skirt. “I'm meeting with Scotty to go over the structure of the base. I don't know what he thinks I’ll know about it.”

“You're the expert on Thelosian culture. Thelosians built the base.”

“I'm not an architect,” Uhura said.

“I think you'll surprise yourself.”

With a curt nod, Uhura took her leave. She was almost at the door when the captain called her back.

“Uhura, is Stayfield's chessboard beyond repair?”

Puzzled by the question, Uhura leveled a quizzical look across the room. A familiar determination had overcome the captain's face. It was a look that promised the moving of mountains. “The top tier broke off, but she can probably fix it.”

“Good, thanks.”

Still confused, but already late for her meeting in engineering, Uhura left without questioning the captain.

ooo


The air in Spock's room was thick and perfumed with incense. He sat in front of his fire-pot. Grim determination kept him in place.

The sharp chirrup at his door startled him. He cast the door a baleful look, irrationally blaming his caller for his own failure to concentrate. He was considering ignoring the call when the comm panel beside the door lit up.

“Spock, it's me,” Jim's voice carried through the speaker.

Spock unfolded stiff legs and stood. “Come in,” he said.

The door swished open. The captain's lithe figure filled the doorway. When he took no more than two steps past the threshold, Spock closed the distance instead. He stood before Jim, head bowed. He waited for his reprimand. His behavior towards Dr. Stayfield had been reprehensible.

Kirk felt as if he'd walked into some kind of barrier. The air was solid and plied with spice. “Did you eat already?”

Surprised by the question, Spock struggled to form the simple answer. “Yes,” he said. An edge of hope cut through the dismay over a potential reprimand. “Although I have already eaten, I would be agreeable to joining you for dinner, should you request my company.”

A pang of guilt throbbed in Kirk's chest. Caught up in his mission efforts, he hadn't spent as much time with Spock as he should have. “There's something on the observation deck I'd like to show you.”

After dousing the fire pot, Spock was ready to leave. He walked beside Jim through the halls, matching the man's pace and wondering at the odd silence. Jim usually directed his attention to various corners of the ship and explained the inner workings of the vessel. He found such moments engaging and floundered at the sudden absence of Jim's voice.

Kirk had run his plan by Stayfield. The doctor had been uncertain, but had suggested he proceed. He was nervous now, afraid of overstepping himself and breaking whatever tentative connection he had with Spock.

When they reached the double doors of the observation deck, Kirk held a breath and entered his code. He'd cleared the deck and reserved it for the night. If Spock snapped again, he didn't want witnesses. Witnesses would add oil to fire by layering shame on top of everything else the boy was feeling.

The vaulted room had an open view of the stars. Bones wouldn't come near the observation deck. It made a lot of crewmembers uneasy. The compound of duraplast was nearly as unbreakable as the shell of the ship, but some people didn't trust it. The room appeared as if the outer wall were missing, exposing occupants to the void of space.

The lights were dimmed. When they were at warp, the streaking ether cast a bright neon glow. At the moment, there was only the slow movement of stars. Thelos wasn't visible from the ship's current position.

Kirk stepped down into the well of the seating area. Dr. Stayfield's 3-D chessboard sat on a small round table flanked by two cushioned chairs.

Stepping down to join Jim, Spock nearly tripped when he caught sight of the board. He threw Jim a look of barely suppressed panic. “I do not understand. Is this intended as a form of punishment?” The board taunted him, a visible reminder of what he would never have again. He would never hear his mother's tinkling laughter as he picked over the pieces and analyzed every move.

Heart steeled against the anguish in Spock's voice, Kirk said, “No, it’s a request.” He turned to the boy. “Will you play a game with me?”

Spock stared at the board for a long while.

Kirk moved to one of the chairs. “I’ll go easy on you. You can even be white.”

“Are you so confident in your abilities?” Despite the hollow ache Spock felt, he couldn't help but wonder if the human who continually surpassed his expectations could best him at chess.

“You’re looking at a founding member of Starfleet’s chess club.”

“One need not be proficient to form a club.”

“I’ve got a few titles under my belt. I haven’t played much on a three-D board, but maybe the handicap will give you a fighting chance.”

Spock had taken several steps closer before he realized the intent behind Jim’s statements. “You are attempting to appeal to my competitive nature.”

“Let’s just play.”

After another long study of the structure, Spock nodded. “Very well.” He made a point of taking the seat on the black side.

The clamp around Kirk's heart loosened. He took his place and made the first move as white.

Spock’s hand hovered over a pawn. His disordered thoughts recalled past games. His mother had always chided that he was too reserved in his tactics, always starting with a pawn. Hand shifting, he plucked his knight from its place and set it on the second tier. His stomach lurched, sick with the understanding that memories were all he had left of his mother. Across the board, blue eyes caught his gaze and filled him with unspoken reassurances. Then those eyes were on the board and the next move had been made.

One move followed the next. Spock found it easier to touch the pieces.

Eventually, Kirk broke the silence. “Tell me about your mom.”

Spock dropped his rook. It clattered and rolled off the board onto the table, seesawing back and forth until came to a dead stop. “I was not aware that this was another therapy session.”

“It’s not. Want me to go first?”

Spock didn’t answer either way.

Undeterred by Spock’s lack of response, Kirk said, “Her name was Winona. She was a commander in Starfleet. She died about four years ago. We lived in an old farmhouse in Iowa, close to the yards where this ship was built. She always smelled like oil and metal, even after a shower. It was the greatest smell in the world.” Nostalgia overcame him whenever he went to the engine room or stood close to Scotty.

He kept going, hoping that if he threw out enough words some of them would reach Spock and maybe offer a measure of comfort. “I was around six when she went on active duty again. She took longer missions every time she went out. I remember the first year she wasn’t home for New Years. My brother and I took it hard, thought maybe she’d decided never to come back. Since we never celebrated my birthday, we made a bigger deal out of New Years to make up for it.”

Spock broke his stony silence to ask, “Why did you not celebrate your birthday?” He remembered streamers, cake, candles, and paper with strange patterns that concealed gifts. His mother was always eager to celebrate his birthday.

The question threw Kirk from his train of thought. “You’ve read up on Nero?”

“Affirmative.”

“Then you know about my dad dying with the Kelvin and how I was born that day. It’s never been a day to celebrate.” Kirk reached over and righted Spock's fallen rook. The boy's eyes followed his hand. “Anyway, long story short, even though she wasn’t in my life a lot, she was still a huge part of it. When she was around, she was a great mom. I regret not knowing her better.”

Longing churned inside Spock. It became imperative that he return Jim’s confidence, that he share something of himself. In a rush, he said, “My mother would cry at the vernal equinox, when Vulcan’s sister planet orbited closest and appeared at dusk. She rationalized that the sight was too beautiful to bear.” Jim remained intent on the chessboard. He spoke again, wondering if his next statement would make Jim look at him. “I was a target of disdain for her presence on Vulcan and for being half-human. At times, I resented her. It was illogical.” Still Jim studied the board. “I am not ashamed to admit that I loved her. As much as a Vulcan can love his mother, I did.”

Kirk finally looked up. “You still love her. How you feel about her doesn’t change just because she’s gone.”

Spock felt the weight of Jim’s gaze. “Indeed?”

“I still love my mom,” Kirk said. “She could drive me crazy and I resent that she wasn’t around more, but I love her.”

“I will never see my mother again.”

“That’s the worst of it,” Kirk agreed. “Sometimes I can almost pretend that she’s on assignment. That four years without talking to her isn’t strange because I’ve gone a whole year before.” He rolled one of Spock's captured pawns between his fingers, absently contemplating its smooth black surface. “Then I remember that I’ve got her metals in my sock drawer.”

Spock bowed his head. “My father has offered to send a Vulcan adept to the ship.”

“I know. He talked to me about it.” Kirk sacrificed his bishop, leaving it open for attack. “Do you need one?”

“I do not know.” Spock captured Jim's bishop and set it aside.

“Are you sleeping?”

Spock’s eyes snapped up. He teetered with indecision, not knowing if he should confide the extent of his failure to control his mind. “I dream,” he said.

“About anything in particular?”

“The act itself is abhorrent among my kind. We do not dream. I suspect it is the result of extended period without meditation.”

“Why can’t you meditate?”

“I lack focus. My thoughts are disordered.”

“I wish I knew what would help. Dr. McCoy might have something to help you sleep.”

“I would seek an adept before attempting to tamper with the chemical balance of my body.”

Kirk nodded. “You can come to me if you need to.” After his release from sickbay, Spock had spent each night in his own quarters. Whatever had compelled the boy to seek Kirk out in sickbay, now compelled him to retreat behind closed doors.

“To seek counsel?”

“If you need company or need to get out of your head. If you can’t sleep and don’t want to pace around your quarters alone, you can hang out with me.”

“You suggest I interrupt your own rest?”

Kirk almost laughed at Spock's concern. He hadn't rested in years. “I’m up at odd hours anyway.” He jumped his knight to the top platform. “Check.”

Spock studied the board. “You were not exaggerating when you boasted of your skill.”

“I like tactics.” With a grin, Kirk added, “Considering I beat your Kobayashi Maru, chess is nothing. Though I’m sure you’d call me a cheat, even now.”

“Please, elucidate.”

With a number of unnecessary embellishments, Kirk explained Spock's unbeatable simulation at the academy and how some cocksure and devastatingly handsome cadet hadn’t taken ‘no’ for an answer.

Spock was silent when Jim finished. Then, he concluded, “You cheated.”

“It’s how we first met.” Kirk sat back and laughed, game forgotten. “You hated that I won.”

“Hate is an emotion.” The corner of Spock's mouth twitched.

Kirk read the glint in Spock’s eyes as the boy feigned interest in the board. He laughed, his tension from his day easing. “You're good company, kid.”

Spock kept his gaze riveted to the board. The color rose in his face until even his ears were flushed. He moved his queen to the lower platform. The queen was his mother's favorite piece. Free to move where other pieces could not, not even the king.

“Finally using your best player,” Kirk said with a smile. Spock was good, but clearly still learning. He deployed his own queen. “Checkmate.”

Eyebrows arched high, Spock stared unblinking at the board. “Fascinating.”

“Best two out of three?”

Spock met Jim's mirthful gaze. “I will not underestimate you this time.”


TBC...

--Author’s note--

Good news is the next chapter is already finished. I’ll post it in a couple days! Sorry about the super long wait for this chapter. Nano kept me too busy for fanfiction. As always, please comment. Comments are my crack.

On a completely unrelated note, anyone else see Unstoppable and fall in love with Chris Pine all over again? On an even less than unrelated note, I'm hoping to see Tron: Legacy this weekend, if only for the visuals.