Actions

Work Header

First, Best Destiny - Part One

Summary:

James Tiberius Kirk - friend, brother, lover - has one great and glorious ambition: to captain a starship. It is the defining passion of his life for which he has sacrificed every relationship he once held dear.

S'chn T'gai Spock left his life behind on Vulcan to join Starfleet, against the wishes of his family. Ostracised by his people, he has forged his path amongst alien strangers, unfamiliar with and resentful of his cool, logical ways.

When the USS Enterprise loses her Captain, they are thrown together as Starfleet's newest command team. These very different men begin a relationship that will define their lives, shape their destinies, and reveal the lengths that each will go to for friendship. And for love.

A novel-length retelling of original Star Trek canon through the lens of one of the greatest relationships ever committed to film. Using missing scenes, episode tags, and original story-telling. Ultimately a Generations fix-it.

Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

Chapter Text

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath sealed thee for herself, for thou hast been—
As one in suffering all that suffers nothing—
A man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards
Hast ta’en with equal thanks. And blessed are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,
That they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger
To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him
In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.

- Hamlet to Horatio, Act 3, Scene 2

Rateg City, Romulus , Stardate: 48582.3 (Terran Calendar: 1st June,  2371)

Spock of Vulcan entered his small rooms behind one of the unremarkable thoroughfares in one of Rateg's poorer sectors, and closed the door on the biting night air. There would still be a draft. The careful selection of these rooms, with their innocuous, obscure location, disinterested locals, and bland utilitarian appearance, was entirely practical. The heavy metal door and cramped escape tunnel were hold overs from the civil wars that had ravaged Romulus in years gone by, and were now of potential usefulness for someone the authorities regarded as a dangerous Vulcan rabble rouser, should the need arise. Unfortunately, they were, by definition, old and porous, at least to the chilled Romulan air, so despite appreciating their practicality, their sole occupant was subject to a constant low-level draft, which kept the temperature well below comfortable.  

However, they were still a relief from the knife edge of the winds outside, and Spock breathed an unconscious sigh of relief as the slight metallic clang of the lock engaging sounded through the small space. Crossing the room, he sank onto the small bed. His feet hurt, his back ached, and he was tired. Only his mastery of his own physical responses was stopping him trembling with exhaustion and cold. He had spent all of this day and the two previous on a tour of another local province, meeting other underground dissidents and advocates of peace between their worlds. They had been young, and enthusiastic, and eager to hear from him. Two years, even a year ago, this would have given him encouragement, reminding him of the importance of his mission. But now, their youthful passion and exuberance had just made him tired.  

He had noticed with mild concern his own reactions to those around him over the past few months. He had always practised detachment from his cause, and the outcomes he sought. Such was the way of peace, and logic. But lately it had felt...different. He was no longer just detached. He simply - no longer cared. He reminded himself, repeatedly, of the importance of this mission, and indeed, still believed in it. It might take generations – he certainly would not live to see it – but the unification of the Romulan and Vulcan peoples, the recognition and celebration of their shared heritage, could only bring untold benefits to both. But more and more lately he was convinced that the work was no longer his to do. That the fight, already taken up by so many across Romulus, should be led by someone else. The admission should have been painful, for it meant turning his back on the final great undertaking of his life. He would be left with nothing.  

But it was time. For more than thirty years he had been alone, and had found solace in that state. But lately, honesty forced him to admit that he was no longer simply alone. He was lonely . And tired. Not just physically, but with a pervasive mental depth that ate into his meditation, and haunted his sleep with distressing dreams that vanished from memory as he woke. What dreams he had, and they were rare, were usually peaceful and straightforward. Only in times of stress in his life had he been subject to bad dreams. Such seemed to be the case now, but he was at a loss to explain their source. There was no unusual stress in his life: aside from the normal tension of being constantly in hiding, all was as it had been for the three years gone by.  

And yet he still dreamed. Odd, disturbing fragments were all that remained when he woke. He sometimes seemed to be engaged in combat, or fighting an enemy. He was always warm, and younger than his current age. But it did not matter. He required sleep, and would therefore surrender to what dreams might come.  

An hour later, he sat up quickly, gasping and distressed. He regulated his pulse and breathing as the dream faded. This time, with confusion, he remembered it. He had dreamed of his first pon farr, over a century ago. Why had that memory come back to him now? He had not thought of it, of the realisation it had brought him, in more than half a century. That time of his life had been walled from his conscious awareness after it ended, 79 years earlier. He must meditate and discover the source of this unwanted unconscious remembrance before it led him down paths he did not wish to tread, and brought up memories he no longer wished to recall. There was a certain irony in the knowledge that the memories he had fought so hard to regain after the fal-tor-pan were now the ones he would gladly have lost forever.  

Don’t you think you’d better check with me first?   

That achingly familiar voice echoed in his head like the speaker was in the room with him.  

Spock closed his eyes tightly. He must regulate his mind’s wanderings. He did not wish to remember. That time was so long over, the speaker so long gone, that there was no longer any need to revisit those memories. No more grieving to be done. No more healing to attempt. Those times, that man, were gone beyond any desire to remember, and there was no logic in recalling them now. He breathed in, centred himself, took every tiny scrap of memory and emotion that had been trying to escape from behind that decades-old barricade, and walled them away until he was sure his mental and emotional equilibrium were entirely restored.  

When he opened his eyes, James Kirk was looking back at him.  

He was the Jim that Spock had first met on the old Enterprise, over a century before. In the dim and enervating darkness of Spock’s room, he glowed with youth and strength. His gold command tunic seemed to absorb and reflect the light, magnifying it and making Kirk himself it’s source. He was every inch the radiant memory that Spock had tried so hard to forget. An old, human quote drifted through Spock’s mind.  Age cannot wither, nor custom stale –  he was dreaming, that much was clear. And he needed to wake. He closed his eyes again, breathing quickly.  

When he opened them again, almost as if he had read the thoughts from Spock’s mind, Jim was smiling at him. Despite the voice in his head that told him to resist this insidious manifestation of his subconscious, Spock found himself mesmerised. There had been too many empty, soulless years since he had seen Jim’s smile. A fierce rebellion fought its way to control of his consciousness. He didn’t care if this was a dream. He wanted more of it. Wanted to hear this apparition speak, and laugh, the way Jim had always done so easily. Before logical thought could intervene, he reached  out. He ghosted trembling fingertips above its cheek and Jim’s smile became, impossibly, even softer and more radiant. He spoke, and the voice was everything Spock remembered and more. He had heard every manifestation of this voice and none more welcome than now. 

‘Hey, handsome.’ 

USS Enterprise, Stardate 0002.6 (Terran Calendar: 25th April 2265)

Lieutenant Commander Spock walked from the computer station in his quarters to the small cabinet near his bed, retrieved the pin he had been seeking, and returned to his desk. Then he stood again, moving to the small mirror against the far wall, attached the pin with fingers that were admirably steady, and moved back to his desk. After a moment he stood again, and returned to the mirror, regarding the pin with concern. Perhaps it was a little too obvious. He didn’t want his new commander to think he was in the habit of making overt political statements in the line of duty. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.  I expect to be treated with the same respect and acceptance as any other member of the crew.  Did it imply that he thought his new Captain might not do so? There was certainly nothing in the man’s service record to suggest any kind of anti-alien bias. But Spock had been in Starfleet long enough to know that even within the ranks of those whose lives were dedicated to exploration of the galaxy, a certain pro human sentiment could still exist, however subtle, or in some cases, overt.  

The pin should stay, then.  

Unless. Did it imply any – anxiety on his part?  Please, please accept me. Please be my Captain , as well as theirs.    

After a moment, he removed the pin, and placed it carefully back on the desk.  

On his monitor, the last message he had received from his mother still glowed in his dimly lit quarters. As he returned his eyes to the screen, a section jumped out at him.  

I'm sure you will miss Captain Pike. He was a good man, and I know you admired him. And it’s natural to be anxious about a new commanding officer, but Spock, do give him a chance. Who knows, you may even find a friend, as well as new Captain.   

Spock had raised an eyebrow the first time he read this, almost able to hear his mother’s encouraging voice. Her concern, however much he steered the conversation towards his career and achievements, always came back to friends, happiness and sentiment eventually. She was, in that way, very human. But he had not actually expressed any anxiety around the arrival of his new Captain. It would be illogical to do so.  

Even so, her sentiment in this case was misplaced to the point of incredulity. He had been exceptionally lucky in his first commander, and was unlikely to be so lucky a second time. Whilst still at the Academy, he had been assigned to the Enterprise under Captain Pike, and the Captain had become not just a commanding officer, but a source of support, a mentor, and even in later years, Spock hoped, a friend. Which made the ending of their professional relationship even harder to bear. He took a breath, straightened in his chair and pushed the events surrounding the departure of Christopher Pike to the back of his mind. He could not dwell on what might have been. Could not afford to dwell on his own – failings in the matter. 

His mother was, in that respect at least, correct. Nothing to do with his Enterprise’s last commander was the fault or responsibility of her new Captain, and it would be highly illogical to resent the newcomer. Or to fear that the approachable, supportive relationship he had had with Pike would not be mirrored with his new Captain. Any concern in that line would be quite unVulcan, and Spock was glad he had his mental disciplines firmly in place to prevent such unwanted thoughts and emotions occurring.  

He reached across to the monitor to close his mother’s message.  

It would also be illogical to wish that, occasionally, he could see her smile, or hear her voice. He had not done so in four years. They communicated by brief messages, carefully rendered bursts of texts over subspace, between the Enterprise and Vulcan, or when his father’s schedule dictated, Earth. Such messages were small, and easily transmitted with any other communication burst the Enterprise would be sending that day. If his mother was on Earth, the message would be received within a day or two, and a reply would take a similar time. If she was on Vulcan, the timescale was longer, as the message would be relayed via Earth, and relied on the frequency of communication between Earth and Vulcan. To speak to her directly would require booking time with the Enterprise’s communications team, then communication between the team and Ambassador Sarek’s home on Vulcan, or office on Earth.  

Which could never happen.  

His father had decreed that all communication between Spock and his parents cease on the day that Spock had left home for Starfleet Academy, and he had not wavered from that view. His mother, as a dutiful Vulcan bondmate, had to all outward appearances agreed with her spouse. In reality, there had been a message from his mother waiting for him when he arrived at the Academy, and he had never been out of written contact with her for more than a few months at a time, unless the Enterprise was out of communication range entirely. By mutual, unspoken consent, they did not speak of Sarek. Spock had no idea if his father was even aware of his mother’s ongoing contact with their son. But in case he did not know, Spock made no attempt to contact his mother in any way that might draw the attention of his father. He had no wish to sever the last familial contact remaining to him by any rash action of his own.  

As his mother’s message vanished from the screen, the previous document he had been reading and set aside for his mother’s communique, took its place. For the seventh time, Spock ran his eyes over the official service record for his new Captain. For the seventh time, he was impressed by the repeated commendations, and concerned by the element of impetuosity that ran, obvious but officially unremarked, through the record. The document showed a man highly competent, driven, intelligent, and possessed of a remarkable instinct for leadership and command. The youngest Captain in the history of the fleet. It was, by any measure, an impressive record. He was also, to Spock’s eyes, young, impulsive, given to following his instincts ahead of logic, forthright, and ambitious. The opposite of Christopher Pike in almost every way. And therefore, not someone to whom Spock should look for the kind of relationship he had shared with Pike. Which was, of course, fine. Indeed, as things should be. Spock no longer required any kind of mentor, or father figure, or even friend.  

Almost reluctantly Spock’s eyes settled on the picture at the top of the record. The subject looked slightly impatient, as if he had better things to be doing than posing for an official photograph. Clear, intelligent, and perceptive brown eyes stared out of a face that was barely holding the mandatory neutral expression in place. Even the picture seemed possessed of a remarkable energy. Next to the picture, the name and rank of the subject in large, unmissable letters:  

James Tiberius Kirk. Captain.  

Spock reached across, snapped off the screen, and stood. Any speculation was illogical and irrelevant. He would, in all likelihood, have very little interaction with the new Captain outside of their necessary professional roles. Which was entirely logical, and correct, and exactly, he told himself, as he would prefer. 

As alpha shift began, Spock was on his way to the transporter room when a voice hailed him.  

‘Spock! Wait up.’ As Spock paused, the Enterprise’s helmsman, Lieutenant Commander Mitchell, fell into step beside him.  

‘Coming to meet the new Captain?’ Mitchell grinned at him as they walked along the corridor.  

Mitchell seemed more cheerful than usual, and Spock did not have to speculate as to the cause. The new Captain, as Mitchell was more than happy to remind anyone, was a friend of long standing. Kirk and Mitchell had attended the Academy together, and after an unsettling period when the identity of the ship’s new Captain had been in doubt, and some - in Mitchell’s eyes – worrying names had been bandied about, no-one had been more ostensibly delighted than Gary when she was given to his old friend.  

Mitchell's field promotion to first officer had been confirmed immediately, and the new Captain had let it be known that he was impressed with the performance of the Enterprise’s crew under Pike, and those crewman who wished to stay were invited to do so, an offer that Spock had felt was highly sensible, to maintain crew performance and cohesion. The acceptance rate for this offer was high amongst the younger crewmen, but the prospect of serving under the youngest Captain in the fleet had clearly raised a few doubts amongst those with longer service records. Their CMO was retiring within a few months, as was their Head of Communications. Their Chief Engineer had already left. Lieutenant Commander Scott was under consideration for a field promotion to that role, a development that Spock himself had encouraged to Commander Mitchell.  

Engineer Scott was one of the more eccentric humans that Spock had encountered, even aside from the fact that his accent rendered him occasionally unintelligible to Vulcan ears. It had taken a few months of meetings before Spock was properly attuned to what he understood was an Earth regional brogue. Once that initial hurdle had been cleared, however, it had become apparent that Engineer Scott was one of the most knowledgeable and fiercely practical crewmen on the ship.  

Spock thought it the highest compliment he could pay the Engineer that he considered him almost Vulcan in his work ethic and dedication. He also, unlike most humans, treated Spock exactly like everyone else: to wit, less important than his precious engines. His obsession with the engines of the Enterprise surpassed anyone else in his department, and Spock was quietly convinced that any new Captain worth their rank should recognise his dedication and endorse the promotion.  

His own recommendations for vacancies in his department had been forwarded to Captain Kirk along with those of the other department heads, and he had been mildly surprised to receive a terse return communique less than a day later approving them all. He had not noted this as exceptional, but at the next meeting of the Enterprise’s department heads it had become clear that his was the only department where all of his proposed replacements had been endorsed by Kirk. Mild grumbling from his fellow department heads had taken up at least a third of the meeting. They had bemoaned the trouble of having to go ‘back to the drawing board’ in their search for staff, or objected to having their new Captain’s choices foisted upon them.  

Spock replied to Mitchell as they walked. ‘My presence was requested as Science Officer.’  

Mitchell patted him on the back and Spock suppressed the mild internal tension that gathered whenever he did so. He was aware that the human regarded it as a gesture of friendship, and he did not wish to offend by reminding Mitchell that as a Vulcan and a touch telepath, he did not generally encourage casual physical contact. Their relationship had not always been congenial, and Spock deemed the occasional unwelcome pat on the back or shoulder a small price to pay for keeping it on a more overtly friendly footing. It seemed far too difficult to explain to Mitchell that the similar liberties he had allowed Captain Pike had been earned over years of slowly developing mutual trust.  

Mitchell was talking. ‘Don’t you worry, Mister Spock, Jim’s a science nerd too, he won’t give you any trouble. You just keep doing what you’re doing, and he’ll leave well enough alone.’ This was accompanied by a friendly smile that Mitchell clearly intended to be reassuring. Spock wondered briefly why everyone seemed to assume he was concerned about the arrival of their new Captain.  

The doors to the transporter room opened at their approach and Spock and Mitchell joined their CMO and acting Heads of Security and Communications in front of the pad. A yeoman waited patiently to pipe the new Captain aboard.  

Lieutenant Commander Scott was already at the transporter controls. He looked up at Mitchell’s entrance.  

‘Just waitin’ on the signal from the starbase, Commander.’  

‘Thank you, Mr Scott.’  

They fell into a natural parade rest as the seconds ticked by. Next to Mitchell, Doctor Mark Piper pulled irritably at the tunic of his dress uniform. ‘I’m sure this came back from stores a size smaller.’ 

Mitchell regarded him with amusement. ‘Nothing to do with the series of moving on parties you’ve been attending?’  

Piper side-eyed him loftily. ‘Of course not. I’m a doctor. I know how to regulate my drinking and eating to maximise health and wellbeing at all times.’ 

Mitchell grinned. ‘And I know how to wrestle a Denebian slime devil. Doesn’t mean I’m going to do it though.’  

Piper gave a long-suffering sigh, and muttered, ‘Cheeky young pup.’  

Spock experienced a measure of relief that their new Captain was not already present. He would never accustom himself to the human need to fill silences with what could only be described as unnecessary and occasionally unprofessional small talk.  

Another minute ticked by.  

‘Come on Jim,’ Mitchell muttered, ‘We haven’t got all day.’  

Spock frowned to himself. He hoped that Commander Mitchell would not refer to the Captain in that unprofessional manner with any frequency. James Kirk was the Captain, and should be referred to as such at all times. To do otherwise whilst under his command, even with the history that Mitchell enjoyed with his new Captain, was, to Spock’s mind, disrespectful both to the Captain’s rank and his person.  

Scott said, ‘Signal received, Commander.’ 

Mitchell straightened, and the tension in the room, which had died down, ratcheted up again.  

‘Beam him up, Mr Scott.’ 

The hum of the transporter began, and the familiar glow filled the transporter chamber. A figure began to coalesce within the beam, and as it solidified the golden glow softened but seemed not to disappear. Spock blinked rapidly, suddenly anxious that his eyes had malfunctioned in some way. The man before him still appeared to be at least partially formed of gold light, woven through his command tunic and bands of rank. Even his hair seemed to glow, giving him a halo of gold.  

An old memory surfaced unexpectedly in Spock’s mind. Himself as a boy, in his father’s study, looking through old books on the superstitions and beliefs of pre reform Vulcan. One of his childish favourites had been the pictures of the old Vulcan gods, particularly the god of the suns. It was that image that came to mind now as he looked up at his new Captain: an immortal and extraordinary warrior, haloed in gold. 

Spock wondered at the illogically fanciful turn his mind had taken as the yeoman piped the Captain aboard and Mitchell took a half step forward. ‘Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Captain Kirk.’  

James Kirk stepped out of the artificial light of the transporter pad, and the aura around him faded slightly as Spock’s eyes adjusted. His hair was slightly browner than the transporter light had made it appear, although his tunic still had the pristine appearance of something that had been worn new that morning, and there was a slight tension in his movement. For the first time, Spock wondered if the youngest Captain in the fleet had also experienced some anxiety this morning about his new command. The thought was strangely comforting.  

Mitchell continued, ‘Under Starfleet Regulation 103, in my authority as Acting Captain, and by order of the Admiralty, I hereby surrender command of the Enterprise to James T. Kirk, substantive Captain, effective immediately.’  

‘Thank you, Commander Mitchell. It’s a pleasure to be aboard.’ Kirk’s voice was firm. He had, Spock noted immediately, a surprising air of gravitas for someone whose record spoke of at least some level of youthful impetuosity. 

Mitchell’s formal air relaxed a little, and he smiled. ‘Good to have you, Captain.’ 

Kirk smiled back, and Spock had a brief glimpse of the personal charisma that had propelled James Kirk from Iowa farm boy to starship Captain by the age of thirty-two.  

Kirk looked across the line of people in front of him, and stepped across to the end of line furthest from Spock. He extended his hand to the Enterprise’s bulky security Chief and the stockier man shook it enthusiastically.  

‘Commander Darren, good to see you again.’  

The security man smiled. ‘Likewise, sir, it’s been a while since the Farragut.’ 

Kirk said, ‘You’ll be pleased to hear I’ve kept up with my training. You won’t find me so easy to pin these days.’ 

‘Happy to test that theory for you any time, Captain.’ Darren rumbled.  

Kirk laughed, an easy, natural sound, and the tension in the room, already lessened, began to relax into normal Starfleet formality. ‘I shall hold you to that, Commander.’  

He left the security chief grinning wolfishly and turned to the thin faced, taller man next to him. 

‘Lieutenant Commander Gralen, good to meet you. I was disappointed to learn you’ll be leaving us soon.’ 

The Enterprise’s Communications Chief said coolly, ‘I was offered a promotion to the Constellation and it seemed like an excellent opportunity.’ 

Kirk nodded. ‘It will be. Captain Marshall is a good officer.’  

‘And highly experienced.’  

Spock blinked. Gralen’s tone had been respectful, but after fourteen years amongst humans, not all of whom embraced IDIC as enthusiastically as their colleagues, he was learning to pick up on subtext. He saw Mitchell frown, and open his mouth, but Kirk said, in the same diplomatic tone, ‘Indeed. In fact, due to retire soon, I would think. Still, he’ll be a good man to learn from, and I wish you well, Lieutenant.’  

Gralen looked put out and said, somewhat reluctantly to Spock’s ears, ‘Thank you, sir.’ 

Kirk’s eyes had already slipped past him to the transporter console. ‘Commander Scott!’ The Scotsman looked somewhat discomfited at being hailed so enthusiastically by his new Captain, and he stepped awkwardly to one side of the transporter console. ‘It’s a pleasure to have you on board, Capt -’  

Kirk waved the greeting away, as he stepped forward to grasp the older man’s hand. ‘The pleasure’s mine, Lieutenant Commander. I’ve read all of your reports on the Enterprise’s engines. Excellent work, Mister Scott, excellent.’  

Under Spock’s fascinated gaze, the Enterprise’s most dedicated engineer flushed to the roots of his hair. Kirk continued, ‘I’d like to have a chat with you sometime about some improvements you’ve proposed. I was particularly interested in your ideas about the warp drive. I thought - ‘ 

Mitchell said, and Spock could hear the suppressed amusement in his voice.  'Captain, we were hoping to get the tour  at least  started before beta shift begins.’  

Kirk stopped with a visible effort, then added, ‘Well, another time, Mr Scott, but in the meantime, I hope you’ll be my acting Chief Engineer until we have a chance to properly discuss the engine room?’  

If possible, Scott went even redder, and stammered. ‘wha- er –  Aye. Aye, sir, it’d be my honour. I’ll take care of the bairns for you, you see if I don’t. I won’t let you down.’ 

Kirk blinked, then said, in a genuinely warm tone, ‘I know you won’t, Mr Scott.’   

Next to Scotty, Dr Piper cleared his throat. Kirk stepped across with a smile, and took the proffered hand. 

‘It's good to finally meet you, Doctor. Your reputation precedes you. Commander Mitchell tells me you run a tight sickbay.’ 

Piper said dryly, ‘Commander Mitchell would say anything to get out of his next physical.’  

Kirk tossed an amused side eye to his second in command. ‘Good to see you’ve got the measure of him. I was sorry to hear you’ll be retiring in a few months.’ 

Piper nodded. ‘Thank you, sir, but it’s time. I don’t think I’ve got another five years in me. That’s a younger man’s game.’  

Kirk said sincerely, ‘Well, the Enterprise’s loss is Starfleet medical’s gain.’ 

As this exchange continued Spock noticed an odd anxiety begin to settle in his stomach. He was aware of a desire to make a good impression. He was also aware that Kirk had shaken the hand of every man present. He wondered if his new Captain was aware that Vulcans did not, traditionally, do so. He should be, of course, but it was entirely possible that he had had little exposure to Vulcan culture during his career so far. 

Kirk’s conversation with Piper had drawn to a close and Spock was suddenly, intensely aware of being the sole focus of Kirk's attention as the Captain stopped in front of him.   

Kirk said, and his tone was a little subdued, ‘You must be Lieutenant Commander Spock.’  

From Kirk’s side, Mitchell muttered, ‘What gave him away?’  

Kirk ignored him, and as Spock was about to speak, he noticed his Captain's right hand was flexing oddly. He just had time to wonder if the Captain had some as yet unreported nervous tic, before Kirk had steadied his hand and raised it in the traditional Vulcan salute.  

Kirk said, with deliberate care, ‘Dif-tor heh smusma, Commander.’ 

The pronunciation was slightly hesitant, and the accent appalling, but Spock had not had his native language spoken to him in over a decade. The familiar, cherished syllables fell into his awareness like water after a drought. Next to Kirk, Mitchell frowned in surprise. Spock stared in frozen shock at the source of the sound as Kirk’s hopeful expression began to slide away.  

‘Commander? Did I say that wrong?’ 

Spock’s voice caught up with his heart, which appeared to be trying to obstruct his throat. He threw his hand up into the ta'al. ‘Peace and long life, Captain Kirk.’ 

If Kirk had noticed Spock’s awkward reaction, he gave no sign. Instead, he said, still in that slightly subdued tone, ‘I was intrigued with your last paper on warp fields and spatial distortion.’ 

Spock blinked. It had been a personal project outside of his duties and he had not been aware the paper was widely circulated. Aloud he said, ‘Indeed, Captain? It was merely a - proposal of my initial hypothesis.’ 

Kirk nodded, and some enthusiasm began to seep back into his tone. ‘Yes, but the implications would be significant. I’d love a chance to chat it through with you sometime.’ 

Mitchell cleared his throat and Kirk’s eyes met Spock’s in an expression of conspiratorial amusement. Spock had seen such expressions before, but only in front of him, not directed at him, and he was at a momentary loss for an appropriate response. In the face of his science officer’s unchanging expression, Kirk’s own fell slightly before he recovered and turned to Mitchell.  

‘Yes. Well. Thank you, Science Officer. Alright Commander Mitchell, let’s get this show on the road. Where are we starting?’ 

As Kirk and Mitchell passed into the corridor, already deep in conversation, the atmosphere in the transporter room relaxed.  

Piper said thoughtfully, ‘Well, I wish him luck. Not easy, taking over someone else’s command. Chris Pike left some big shoes to fill.’ 

Gralen added coolly, as they moved towards the door, ‘Especially given Kirk's age and inexperience.’  

Spock heard himself say, ‘Captain Kirk’s record would indicate a high degree of aptitude and competence for the task at hand, age and experience notwithstanding.’ 

Gralen said smoothly as he swept out, ‘Well, I guess you’ll find out in the next five years, won’t you, Mister Spock?’ 

As Piper and Gralen left, Commander Scott, apparently oblivious to the entire conversation and muttering to himself about impulse drive and engine neutrality, followed them out of the door. 

Spock watched him go, aware of an illogical sense of failure.  

He could not avoid the idea that Kirk had deliberately suppressed his natural ebullience when speaking to him. Presumably in order not to offend Spock's Vulcan sensibilities with unnecessary human emotionality. It was the kind of consideration that Spock would have been grateful for from Gary Mitchell. But from James Kirk it was oddly....disappointing. The man’s energy was part of him, and his attempt to suppress it speak to Spock had been somewhat disconcerting. And Spock's own responses had been clearly  lacking  -  

A voice at his side said cheerfully, ‘Well, he likes you.’ 

Spock turned to face the Enterprise’s security chief, whose presence had temporarily slipped his mind. He said, ‘I beg your pardon, Commander?’ 

Darren nodded at the door. ‘Kirk. You’ve obviously impressed him.’ 

Spock stared at the shorter man. He was accustomed to the human tendency to make illogical leaps to irrational conclusions, but given that the last five minutes had been some of the least impressive of his entire tenure on the Enterprise, he was at an utter loss to explain this one.  

On his expression, Darren smiled. ‘Capt’n Kirk expects people to adapt to his style of command, not the other way ‘round. Made a proper effort with you, though. Obviously keen to have you on side. Understandably.’ His Teutonic accent was more pronounced with extended speech.  

Spock said, uncertainly, ‘I am sure Captain Kirk is keen to develop positive working relationships with all his crew.’ 

Darren said easily, ‘Oh, no doubt. An’ he will, too. Whether they like him or not. Probably won’t bother to learn any of their languages though.’ He placed a firm pat on Spock's shoulder as he passed. ‘Nope, your new Captain’s a fan, Mister Spock. You can relax.’ 

As the door swished open, Spock ruthlessly suppressed the frisson of hope the security chief’s words had engendered, as well as his own disappointment in his lack of adequate response to his Captain.  

Ultimately, Kirk’s opinion was irrelevant. Spock would continue to perform his duties to the best of his ability, and that would either be acceptable to his new Captain, or it would not.  

The thought suddenly occurred that he had not heard where Commander Mitchell had proposed to start the new Captain’s tour of the ship. The notion that it might be the science labs sent him hurrying from the room.  

As it turned out, it was almost past the end of alpha shift before Kirk and Mitchell turned into the Enterprise’s main lab. Spock straightened from his console as they entered.  

Mitchell was saying, ‘Right, I’ll leave you here and handover to beta shift on the bridge.’ 

To Spock, he said, ‘You’re lucky we made it before Gamma shift. I thought I was  never  going to get him away from Scotty. I can’t believe there’s actually someone who can out-geek James Kirk when it comes to warp drives.’ 

Spock said coolly, ‘Mr Scott is to be commended for his dedication and thorough commitment to the engine room.’ 

Mitchell snorted, ‘I’ll say. You’ll never convince me he doesn’t sleep there sometimes. He’s nearly as dedicated as you, Mister Spock.’ 

Kirk, who had been looking between them, a carefully neutral expression on his face, said, ‘Don’t let me keep you, Mitchell. I’ll finish up with Commander Spock here then come and find you.’ 

Mitchell nodded. ‘Great. I’ll see you in an hour.’ He turned and left the room. Kirk smiled round at Spock's mostly young and silent staff, eliciting some hopeful smiles in return, before looking across at his science officer. He clapped his hands together and said, ‘Right, Mister Spock, what have you got for me?’ 

An hour later, and Spock was entirely certain that, even had he been thus inclined, he would never be able to lead his department in a mutiny against James Kirk. The Captain had talked individually to all of his staff; about their work, their personal projects, even their off-duty interests. He made insightful and instructive comments on their work, and Spock was forced to rapidly mentally revise some of the explainers he had prepared in case the new Captain had not had an aptitude for science.  

Kirk praised and encouraged, patted backs and smiled. Spock didn’t think his lab had ever had such an air of effortless bonhomie. Beta shift arrived and Alpha didn’t leave. Almost Spock’s entire staff were crammed into his lab, wreathed in smiles as Kirk relayed a humorous anecdote from his secondment to astrophysics as a second Lieutenant.  

On cue, the whole room broke into delighted laughter. Kirk smiled round at them all. ‘Right, alpha shift, off you go. Beta, I can’t keep you from your work any longer, or I’m sure Mister Spock will have my hide.’ 

Eyes, which Spock was sure had entirely forgotten his presence, slipped to their head of department, and smiles froze guiltily on faces as the department disbursed as instructed.  

Kirk walked over to the corner of the lab where Spock was standing. He leaned against the bench next to his science officer and said thoughtfully, looking back across the lab, ‘You’ve got a good team there, Mister Spock. I was impressed with your suggestions for promotions and replacements. I think they’ll be even better once the new cohort have settled in.’  

‘They will, Captain,’ Spock said with certainty. ‘Efficiency amongst those newly assigned to the science laboratories increases by at least seven percent after a week. Long term gains vary, but exposure to the discipline and practices in this department is proven to enhance overall productivity and performance in all crew who are assigned.’ 

Kirk blinked at him for a moment and then said, ‘I’ve no doubt of it, Mister Spock.’ 

Spock glanced at him, wondering for a moment if his Captain was laughing at him, but there was no sign of it in Kirk’s mild gaze. 

They stood for a moment in companionable silence, watching as Spock’s staff went about their work. Spock was beginning to wonder if he should indulge the human propensity for small talk, when Kirk said quietly, ‘I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier, did I? With my greeting?’ 

Spock said, matching Kirk’s tone, ‘It would be illogical for me to experience discomfort in that circumstance, Captain.’ 

Kirk gave a hum of scepticism. ‘Whilst I’m sure that’s true, Mister Spock, it wasn’t quite an answer to my question.’ He shot Spock a half smile. 

Spock blinked. It was an answer that had satisfied in similar circumstances in the past. Kirk was watching him with interest. Spock said carefully, ‘I was – taken by surprise. It is rare that my – different background is considered in such circumstances.’ 

Kirk nodded, as if the answer was not unexpected. They stood in silence for a moment, before Kirk squinted at him self-consciously. ‘I think my Vulcan accent might be terrible.’ 

For an almost infinitesimal amount of time, Spock contemplated the human tendency to obfuscate difficult truths and decided, as he had always done before, that such a course of action was both unnecessary and unhelpful.  

‘It is, sir.’  

Kirk’s face froze and Spock experienced a very unVulcan moment of anxiety that he had managed to offend his Captain on his first day, until Kirk’s face relaxed into an amused grin. ‘Well, maybe you can help me with that in future. In the meantime, if we run into any other Vulcans on this trip, I’ll let you do the talking.’ 

Spock said, ‘That would be wise, Captain.’ The feeling that his response was somehow inadequate came back to him. He found himself wanting to communicate some sense of gratitude for the effort Kirk had gone to, however illogical. He said hesitantly, ‘However, it was – pleasing – to hear my native language. I was - not ungrateful.’ 

Kirk looked at him in surprise, then said, ‘However terribly that language was spoken?’  

Spock blinked in consternation. ‘I- no, sir, that wasn’t what I intended -'  

Kirk face broke into a grin. ‘Relax Mister Spock, I’m teasing you. It’s a bad habit, but you seem to bring it out of me. Don’t worry. I shall try to refrain.’  

Spock felt as if the conversational ground beneath his feet was uncertain. The feeling, taken in conjunction with Kirk’s smile, was not entirely unpleasant.  

He said carefully, ‘You – need not do so on my account, Captain.’ 

Kirk looked at him in surprise. ‘Really? Well, be careful what you wish for, Mr Spock.’ 

Spock said, ‘I believe the relevant human aphorism states ‘what is sauce for the goose -' 

He was interrupted by Kirk’s delighted bark of laughter. Around the lab, heads turned to them. ‘Oh, I see. In that case I suppose I should be careful what I wish for.’  

Spock was momentarily discombobulated by the notion that James Kirk would have any wishes revolving round his science officer. Before he could gather himself, Kirk had turned towards him and was saying, ‘I never got to ask about your projects, Mister Spock. I’d be fascinated to know what you’re working on, and we need to talk about that warp drive spatial distortion paper. I’ve had some theories in that line myself, and I mentioned it to Chief Engineer Scott. We thought - ‘ 

Spock watched his Captain as he continued to relay his conversation with the Engineer. There was genuine enthusiasm and sincerity in every word. Even Captain Pike, for all his encouragement, had never taken such an obvious interest in Spock’s work, pronouncing it to be, with some amusement, mostly over his head.  

So it was with some reluctance that he said, ‘Captain, I believe you are already late for your rendezvous with Commander Mitchell.’ 

Kirk frowned. ‘Oh damn. Gary. I forgot.’ He pushed away from the bench. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time then. Thank you for the tour.’ 

Spock inclined his head. ‘No thanks are necessary for the performance of my duties, Captain.’ 

Kirk blinked. ‘No. Quite right, Mister Spock. Carry on.’ He made an odd, abortive movement with his right hand, as if he had been about to place a hand on Spock’s back, then thought better of it. Watching Kirk leave, Spock was illogically torn between approval of his Captain’s consideration, and an odd sense of disappointment.  

Kirk sat at his desk, listening to Gary, opposite him in the visitor’s chair, talk through duty rotas and shift patterns at the desk in the Captain’s quarters. Being already familiar with the Enterprise’s crew and Mitchell’s habitual assignments of same, he was only half listening. As the talk moved onto bridge rotas, conversations of the day came back to him. After a while he said, thoughtfully, ‘I think you might have sold him short, you know?’ 

Gary broke off his monologue. ‘Who?’ 

Kirk nodded to the padd in front of his friend. ‘Spock. He’s not as humourless as you led me to believe. And I don’t think me being overtly emotional in his presence is going to bother him. He seems pretty okay with it.’ 

Gary stared. ‘Are we talking about the same guy? Tall, pointy ears? Stone faced?’  

Kirk shot him a chastising look. ‘He’s not though, is he? He’s pretty expressive. Does that eyebrow thing when you surprise him. That deliberate not-smile thing when you make him laugh.’ 

Gary stared. ‘You made him laugh? We’re definitely talking about different people.’ 

Kirk said defensively, ‘Well obviously he didn’t laugh laugh, you know. But he did look - amused.’ 

‘Jim, I know you’re keen to get everyone on side, but I think you might be reading a bit too much into our Mister Spock.’ 

Kirk frowned, and flicked a hand at the bridge rota. ‘He’s only on the bridge in beta shift, isn’t he?’ 

‘Yeah. He’s more use in the lab during alpha. And honestly, he can be hard work, I’m telling you.’ 

‘I’d like him to work alpha for a few weeks. See how it goes.’ 

‘On the bridge?’ 

‘No, Gary, sweeping the shuttlebay. Yes, on the bridge.’ 

Mitchell laughed. ‘And there he is. Hi, Jim. You’ve been Captain Formality all day. Gets old.’ 

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. ‘Come on, we’ve talked about this. Things can’t be like they were. I’m the Captain now. I can’t play favourites; however close we’ve been.’ 

It was Mitchell’s turn to frown. ‘We’ve been? So you get promotion and suddenly we're not close?’ 

Kirk stared at him. ‘You know damn well that’s not what I meant. The Captain has to – ‘ 

Gary said bluntly. ‘I don’t actually. I don’t know that’s not what you meant.’ 

‘Gary, for God’s sake,’ Kirk snapped, ‘it’s my first day. First full bridge shift tomorrow. And you want to do this now?’ He stood. ‘No. Deal with it. And I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

Gary stared at him, then rose and picked up his padd. ‘As you wish. Captain.’ 

Kirk watched coldly as his first officer walked from the room. As the door swished shut he sank into his chair, running a hand through his hair. ‘Brilliant, James T, just brilliant.’  

Spock lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling in mild consternation. It was unlike him to have difficulty sleeping. Usually his mind was sufficiently quieted after his evening meditation that sleep came with no effort. Tonight, however, he was restless, and snatches of the day's conversations came back to him at random.  

Live long and prosper,  spoken in a strange, but welcome voice.  

I’m teasing you, Mr Spock.   

Maybe I should be careful what I wish for.  

Spock sat up, and sighed. James Kirk was proving to be - confusing, in ways that he simply had not anticipated. But there was very little point in mentally rehashing the day more than once. His time should be used far more constructively.  

By 2am ship’s time, he was realigning a plasma conduit in a Jeffries tube adjacent to the lab, and had managed to put the Enterprise's confounding new Captain entirely from his mind. In the relative silence and uninterrupted stillness of ship’s night, work was proceeding quickly. The small sounds of his work were magnified and echoed by the quiet of the Jeffries tube.  

After a while, Spock’s acute hearing alerted him to a muffled thumping, some distance away, the sound travelling through the closed hatched to his left. He regarded the hatch curiously, before returning to his work. As time passed the thumping noise grew closer, calling itself more urgently to his attention. It was followed by a muttered curse, and a scrabbling at the hatch nearest to Spock. Moments later the hatch flew open, and tousled, somewhat sweat dampened brown curls appeared, followed by a newly familiar face, smudged with dirt, who stopped in surprise at the sight of Spock, calmly crosslegged in front of the access panel.  

Spock said, ‘Good evening, Captain Kirk.’  

Kirk blinked at him, then said, with what dignity he could muster, ‘Good evening, Mister Spock.’  

After a moment, he hauled himself through the hatch and sat against the bulkhead, the space not allowing for anything more than crouch at best, still breathing hard. ‘What are you doing here at this hour?’ 

‘I might ask you the same question, sir.’ 

Kirk grinned.  ‘Well, you might, but I asked first.’ 

Spock said, ‘These plasma conduits have been in need of realignment for some time. It is impossible to do whilst the lab is in use but given the hour, and the fact that there is currently no work in the lab that cannot be temporarily suspended, this seemed like the ideal opportunity.’  

‘At 0200 hours. Obviously.’ Kirk blew out a breath. ‘Your dedication is duly noted, Mister Spock.’ 

There was pause in which Spock merely stared at his commanding officer. When Kirk finally met his gaze, he raised an enquiring eyebrow.  

Kirk said reluctantly, ‘Okay. I am – if you will excuse the vulgarity – pissing in every corner.’ 

A second eyebrow flew up to join the first and Kirk laughed, a warm sound in the confined space.  

He continued, ‘Not literally, I hasten to add. I had a tutor at the academy on the command track. It was an expression of his.’ He dropped his voice and assumed a rough brogue that Spock didn’t recognise, ‘She’s your ship, lad. You got’ta know every inch of her. Piss in every corner.’ 

Kirk ran a hand across his face. ‘Rough as anything, and rarely polite company, but there was nothing he didn’t know about handling a starship. And he was right, of course. As Captain, you have to know your ship better than anyone. So here I am.’  

Some of his hair had fallen across his forehead and he pushed it back. ‘Although I’d be happy not to get up close and personal with Jeffries tube seven too often. That’s a damn tight squeeze. I thought these things were a standard size.’ 

Spock recovered himself. ‘I requested to be allowed to reduce the size of the Jeffries tube to allow for extra equipment in the lab. I was given permission to do so by Captain Pike.’ 

Kirk blew out a breath. ‘Well, you’re welcome to your extra space, Mister Spock, but if anything goes wrong in tube seven, I’m sending you in to fix it.’ 

'That is – fair, Captain.’  

Spock noticed that Kirk was not in uniform, having chosen casual shirt and trousers for his foray through the bowels of the Enterprise. Following his gaze, Kirk said, slightly self-consciously, ‘Trying to get through at least the first day without wrecking a uniform. Apparently, my reputation with stores precedes me.’ 

Leaning against the bulkhead as his breathing evened out, he nodded towards the open access panel in front of Spock. ‘Need a hand with that?’  

‘Thank you, Captain, but my work is almost complete.’ 

Kirk nodded. ‘Good.’  

Spock wondered if he would continue his tour through the Enterprise, but Kirk had leaned his head back against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. As he showed no inclination to move on, Spock returned to his task in silence.  

A few minutes went by, then Kirk said, ‘Our new CMO starts in a few weeks. I think you’ll like him.’ 

Spock said mildly, ‘My feelings on the matter are irrelevant, Captain.’ 

Kirk made a noise of disagreement, but said, ‘If you say so, Mr Spock. He’s got experience with Vulcans, you’ll be pleased to know. There’s not much he doesn’t have experience of, actually. Leonard McCoy. Finest CMO in the fleet. Don’t let the lil'ole country doctor act fool you.’ 

Spock said, ‘I am unfamiliar with the name.’ 

Kirk said, eyes still closed, ‘He’s been planetside for a while. Doesn’t actually like starship life all that much. Hates transporters, or he'd be here already. Took a hell of a lot to persuade him to come with us.’ 

Spock said, ‘If you will forgive me, Captain, he does not sound like the ideal candidate for the Chief Medical Officer of a frontline starship.’ 

Kirk grinned. ‘Do me a favour, Mister Spock. Remind me, and we'll have this conversation again in a few months. I think you’ve got to experience McCoy for yourself to understand.’ 

‘I shall do so, Captain.’ As a few more minutes went by, Spock made the final adjustments to the conduit. Flow had improved by the expected 5.7% percent. He began to reseal the access panel.  

Kirk said, idly, ‘Do you play chess at all, Mister Spock?’  

Spock sealed the panel and turned to face his Captain, who hadn’t moved from his position against the bulkhead. ‘Given your in-depth knowledge of not only the Enterprise, but her crew, I believe you will be familiar with my official record which lists my interests outside of my duties.’ 

Kirk cracked an eye in his direction. ‘Alright. You caught me. I knew the answer to that one.’  

He paused, then said, ‘I find it’s usually better to let people tell me that kind of thing. No-one – except you apparently- is totally comfortable with the notion that I might have their service record memorized. And it’s good to –‘ he gestured small circles with his hands, which were resting on his knees ‘– let people talk. Tell you about themselves. Shows an interest. People are always interesting, when you dig a little.’  

He added thoughtfully, ‘And you never know what you might need to know to lead them effectively unless you let them tell you.’  

Spock said with interest, ‘Surely all Starfleet officers should simply follow orders regardless of their personal idiosyncrasies?’ 

Kirk shot him a half smile. ‘Indeed. I'd damn well not have anyone on my ship who wouldn’t. But –‘ he sighed, then continued more quietly, eyes on the panel opposite, ‘ - if I’m going to look someone in the eye and ask them to die for this ship, I want them to know that I know them. That I’ll remember them.’ He looked across at Spock, ‘Yes, of course they’d follow orders anyway, but in that moment - it helps. Not much. But it does. We’re all prepared to lay down our lives for the service, but the Captain needs to give the service a face. One that mourns. Not then, but - after. In the end, I don’t think anyone really dies for a flag. You die for your people.’ 

Around them, the hum of the Enterprise’s engines, unheard background noise during ship’s day, sounded almost loud in the ensuing silence.  

After a while Spock said thoughtfully, ‘I have observed in my human crewmates that an attachment to something, be it a person, or an object, makes it harder for them to - part with that thing. As Captain, surely it would be easier to practice detachment?' 

Kirk gave a quiet huff of laughter. ‘Can’t. I know it works for some, but I’m - not wired that way. Might it be easier? Maybe.’ He leaned his head back against the bulkhead for a moment, then tilted it towards Spock with a small smile. ‘But I’m the Captain. It’s not meant to be easy.’ 

Spock said, before his conscious mind could intervene, ‘If there is any way I can assist you, Captain, either within the performance of my duties or without, know that I am ready to so.’ 

Kirk lifted his head and stared at him. Then he swallowed and said quietly, ‘I appreciate that, Mister Spock. Very much.’ 

Spock nodded. ‘Captain.’ 

Kirk said, ‘Jim.’ 

Spock looked at him curiously.  

‘When we're off duty. You could - call me Jim. If you like.’ 

Spock said slowly, ‘I do not believe that would be appropriate.’ 

Kirk took a breath. ‘Very well. Still, the offer stands. And now I think I’ve yet again taken up too much of your time. You are far too easy to talk to, Mister Spock. But we both need to get some sleep before shift tomorrow. First full day on the bridge.’ He shot Spock a smile of barely concealed, almost boyish excitement. Spock clamped down on a wholly unexpected desire to smile back.  

Kirk was already moving towards the ladder. As he began to descend, he looked back. ‘Don’t work too hard. Get some sleep before your shift.’ His head disappeared, then reappeared almost as quickly. ‘Oh, yes. So: you and me. Chess sometime?’ 

Spock inclined his head. 

Kirk smiled with genuine enthusiasm. ‘I look forward to it. Goodnight, Mister Spock.’ 

‘Goodnight, Captain.’ As Kirk’s head disappeared through the hatch, he added, ‘Sleep well,’ and then, quietly, almost testing the sound of it, ‘Jim.’ 

 

Chapter 2: Where No Man Has Gone Before

Notes:

This chapter is set before and after the episode of the same name. I’m hoping that everyone who reads this will have seen it, or at least be familiar with the events therein. Any clarification needed, drop a question in the comments. xx

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 00532.2 (Terran Calendar: 2nd May 2265)

Captain James T. Kirk strode through the corridors of his ship, acknowledging his crew as he passed, who almost all greeted him with a smile, and a murmured ‘Captain.’ He could feel the deck of the Enterprise beneath his feet, suffused with that deep, almost unnoticeable vibration of a ship in flight. At warp, the stabilisation and inertia systems were so effective that without access to a window to view the distorted stars, a passenger might think she wasn’t moving at all. Not her Captain. He knew, without needing to be told, that his orders of the previous evening were still being carried out, that the Enterprise was making her stately way towards the galactic barrier at speeds undreamed of by his own people centuries before.

He already loved his ship. In the week since he’d come on board, he’d familiarised himself with the intimate reality of her, placing bulkheads, conduits, Jeffries tubes, and programmes against the schematics and theory in his head, and finding her even better, even more inspiring, than he’d dared to hope. She was well built, and solid enough to defend and protect her crew, but quick and light enough to carry them out of danger. She was, in her way, old fashioned for a starship, nearly twenty years old now, and the newer ships coming out of drydocks were already sleeker, more streamlined in design. But in the eyes of her Captain, she was the most beautiful of them all. He knew, without it yet being tested, that she would never let him down. That if he did right by her, she would always be there for him, always bring him, and his crew, home.

And he would do right by her. Had done so, already. He knew, better than most, the sacrifices required to be a starship captain, and he didn’t just want to be a captain. He wanted to be the best. His lady deserved no less. And she would not find him wanting. There had been times gone by – lonely, sleepless nights, after another painful break up, missing yet another family occasion - when he had lain awake and wondered if it would ever be worth it. Whether he’d ever get a ship, and if he did, if she would reward all of the hard work and sacrifice that had brought him this far.

Well he had, and she did.

But there was no diminution of effort now, no chance for him to sit back and enjoy his achievement. His lady, and her crew, took every waking minute of his time, even haunted his dreams. He’d known it would be like this, especially at the start, but the reality was still daunting. He was trying to integrate his newly appointed crew with the old hands of Pike’s Enterprise, and not all of them had even arrived. It would be nearly six months before the Enterprise was up to her full complement of crew, and those who were already on board were still not as tight and efficient a team as their Captain would like. As the turbolift neared the bridge, he began planning a new round of drills and performance evaluations.

As the doors opened, and he walked towards the centre seat, he resolutely ignored the thrill that danced down his spine and settled in his gut. My seat. My ship. Mine. Pausing to lay a hand on the backrest, he began a slow circuit of the bridge, talking to gamma shift, who were about to leave, and greeting the arriving alpha shift. Only when everyone was in place, and turned to their tasks, and all eyes were away from the Captain, did he allow himself the luxury of walking to the centre chair and sitting down with a smile that came from his soul.

*

That evening he was in his quarters, going over the reports from the latest round of security drills when the door chime sounded.

Gary entered at his call, and stood a little awkwardly in the centre of the room, clutching what was quite clearly a bottle of something alcoholic.

Kirk looked up from his desk, cleared his throat. ‘Just a guess, but – this isn’t an official visit?’

Gary glanced down at the bottle in his hand, and back to Kirk with a rueful half grin that Jim recognised. It was the expression Gary wore when he felt himself to be in the wrong, but was soldiering on anyway. ‘What gave me away?’

Kirk gestured to the table across the room. ‘Take a seat. I’ll just be a minute.’ He finished his paragraph, made a few notes, and saved the report. He had another three reports to work through, but it could wait. Since he’d snapped at Gary on his first day, relations had been a little strained, and it was past time to make amends. He dropped into the chair across from his friend, who was already pouring the drinks, and raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s this in aid of?’

Gary smiled. There was a slightly hopeful edge to it that immediately made Kirk feel a little guilty that he hadn’t made the effort to square things with his friend before now. ‘This is a celebration.’

Kirk smiled in return, then narrowed his eyes. ‘Okay. It’s not your birthday. It’s not my birthday. I haven’t promoted you again.’ He paused. ‘No. You’re gonna have to tell me.’

‘You, my friend,’ Gary pointed at him, ‘Have all the sentiment of an Andorian eel. This is the tenth anniversary of me knocking you down the steps at the Academy and nearly putting you out of action for a week.’

Kirk grinned. ‘You’re kidding. We met ten years ago? Christ, when did we get old?’

Gary assumed a look of mock affront. ‘Hey, speak for yourself, Captain Ancient. I –’ he gestured expansively with his glass, ‘- am in my prime. And probably immortal. But then we can’t all be demi-gods.’

Kirk picked up his glass and pointed with it. ‘Do not start calling me Romulus on this ship. That was bad enough at the Academy. Took going into space to live that down.’

Gary laughed. ‘Wasn’t my fault you weren’t very emperor-like. Demi-god suited Tiberius Kirk far better.’ He sipped his drink. ‘Hey, who knows, we might run into some real Romulans on this cruise.’

Kirk frowned. ‘Well let’s hope my reputation doesn’t precede me.’ He eyed the contents of his own glass dubiously. Over its rim he caught Gary’s eye, and there was a definite challenge in his brown eyes.

Mitchell said, ‘Jim, it’s fine if you don’t want to drink, I know, you’ve got responsibilities, we both ha-’

He broke off with look of surprise that swiftly turned to a grin as Kirk raised the glass and downed it in one swift movement.

And regretted it instantly. His eyes began to water and he coughed spasmodically. Around gasping breaths, he said, ‘What – the hell – was that?’

Gary jumped up to pat him on the back and said, around badly suppressed laughter, ‘Scotty’s finest. You were supposed to sip it, Jim, you lunatic. Christ.’

Kirk looked up at him through watering eyes, croaked, ‘Thanks for the warning.’ Gary lost his battle against laughter and had to lean on the table to keep himself upright. In spite of his burning throat, Kirk found himself joining in. As their amusement began to subside, he looked at his friend fondly.

Gary caught his gaze, then looked away. After a moment he swallowed, looked back and said, ‘I’ve missed this.’

Jim said, the sudden realisation surprising himself, ‘Me too.’ They stared at each other for a moment in the quiet. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about -’

Gary waved a hand, ‘Don’t worry about it. New command. First day. Massive stress. I get it. I could have been less of an ass about things, as it goes.’

‘Well,’ Kirk attempted a serious expression, ‘I didn’t want to be the one to say -’

Gary punched his arm lightly. ‘Shut up. Sir.’

Kirk grinned up at him. The mood between them had shifted to be more like their long years of friendship and he felt something in his gut relax. Gary reached for the bottle again, and regarded Kirk with a mock serious expression. ‘Now. Can I trust you to drink this sensibly if I pour you another one?’

Kirk looked askance at the amber liquid. ‘I’m not sure I should have another one - that tasted neat. What the hell does Scotty use it for - cleaning the nacelles?’

Gary laughed. ‘I won’t tell him you said that, he’s pretty proud of this batch.’

Batch? Are you about to tell me there’s a still on my ship?’ He held up a hand. ‘On second thoughts, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. I might need plausible deniability.’

Gary smiled. ‘You didn’t hear it from me.’ He poured Kirk another, smaller glass, and pushed it across the surface of the table. ‘Sip it.’

Kirk was about to reply when the door chime sounded again. Gary looked over at him and he shrugged, murmured ‘Not expecting anyone,’ then called out, ‘Come in.’

Gary pushed away from the table as the door opened to reveal Lieutenant Commander Spock, still in uniform, and standing slightly at attention. Kirk stood up quickly and crossed to the door. ‘Spock! This is a pleasant surprise. Come in.’

The Vulcan entered as ordered, but stood a little uncomfortably, barely at ease. ‘My apologies, Captain, I was not aware you had company.’

Before Kirk could speak, Gary said, ‘Don’t mind me, Spock, I’m just here to lead Jim astray.’

Kirk said, ‘He’s right, ignore him. What can I do for you?’

Spock’s eyes had taken in the bottle and the glasses. He said, ‘It is – unimportant, Captain. I merely wished to inquire as to when would be an appropriate time to engage in the recreational game of chess we have discussed previously.’

Gary gave a bark of laughter. ‘Jim, you’re going to take on Spock at 3D chess? Well, definitely not tonight, you’ll need to be sober. And, you know, better at chess. Spock owns that board in the rec room.’

Kirk shot him a look. ‘Just because you were hopeless at it, doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own.’ He turned back to Spock, ‘Don’t worry, Mister Spock, I’m sure I can give you a game. For now, why don’t you join us? I've been meaning to talk to you about the duty rosters for the science department.’

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gary roll his eyes. Spock said uncomfortably, ‘Vulcans do not - consume alcohol.’

Kirk said reassuringly, ‘Of course you don’t, but don’t worry, we’d finished anyway, I’m sure we can rustle you up something non-alcoholic. Take a seat.’ He waved at Gary to fetch the other chair from the desk, who reluctantly walked over, seized the chair, and placed it by the table. After a moment's hesitation, Spock sat. Kirk grabbed the relevant report from his desk and brought it over to the table.

As he sat, he said, ‘I noticed you’ve got your teams on a slightly different shift rotation than the other departments.’

Spock said, a little stiffly, ‘Yes.’

There was a pause.

Gary took a sip of his drink and said, amused, ‘I think the Captain would like to know why, Spock.’

Kirk nodded. ‘I’m not asking you to change it, I’m just curious. The other departments use the shift patterns recommended by Starfleet. I was wondering why you don’t?’

Spock folded his hands in his lap and said carefully, 'The shift pattern established by Starfleet command is tested on, and optimised for use by, human personnel. My department contains the highest percentage of non-human crew on the ship. Vulcans require less sleep than humans. Andorians frequently require more. The pattern of the shifts in the science department ensures that all of the species on the duty roster receive the necessary amount of rest and duty time to ensure optimum efficiency of all.’ Spock paused, then added, ‘I produced a report on this for Captain Pike when initially requesting the change. I would be happy to forward it to you, Captain.’

Kirk said, ‘I’d appreciate that, Mister Spock, thank you.’ He added interestedly, ‘I didn’t realise that about the shift patterns. Being optimised for humans, I mean.’

Gary said, frowning, ‘Well it makes sense, there are more humans in Starfleet than any other race.’

‘Yes,’ Kirk said patiently, ‘but Starfleet doesn’t just serve Earth, it serves the Federation. All of it. There are more races joining Starfleet every year. If ‘fleet command aren’t making sure that the rules and regs reflect the needs of their crews then we’re going to start losing good people.’

‘Maybe, but you can’t have seven or eight different shift patterns on a starship.’ Gary waved his glass. ‘Just wouldn’t work.’

'I’m not suggesting that,’ Kirk said, ‘but we could do what Mister Spock’s done. Optimise one shift pattern for everyone.’

‘So no-one gets a shift pattern that works for them.’ Gary looked skeptical.

‘Or everyone does.’ Kirk pointed at his science officer. ‘Spock’s department is the most efficient on the ship. I need to figure out what he’s doing right and get everyone else doing the same.’

Gary laughed. ‘I’m not sure that’s down to shift patterns. That’s having a Vulcan in charge. Everyone’s too intimidated to slack off.’

If Kirk hadn’t happened to be looking directly at Spock as Gary spoke, he’d have missed it. The infinitesimal pinching of the muscles around his eyes and mouth. Spock’s expression didn’t change in the slightest, but James Kirk would have bet his year’s allocation of leave that the comment had stung. He thought back to his visit to the science labs on his first day. Gary’s comment about intimidation, even in jest, was clearly wide of the mark. His impression had been that whilst Spock’s command style hadn’t engendered a profound affection in his team, his intelligence and efficiency had earned him their undying respect and admiration. It was clear that they worked hard, at least in part, to meet his high standards and impress their taciturn department head. To Kirk’s mind, you could hardly ask for better results in a crew. He wondered, briefly, if Spock was aware of the obvious respect and deference felt by his team. They’d hardly express it to a Vulcan. He wondered if Spock ever doubted their loyalty. Ever wanted it. Prior to this moment, he would have said no. Now, he was curious.

Aloud he said, ‘Gary, that’s hardly fair - ‘

He was interrupted by a whistle from the comm. ‘Bridge to Captain Kirk.’

He jumped up, walked back to his desk and hit the switch. ‘Kirk here.’

The voice of Lieutenant Alden filled his quarters. ‘Sir, I’ve got a call from Captain Rodriguez on the Reliant for you.’

Kirk blinked in surprise. ‘Bill Rodriguez? Patch it through, Lieutenant.’

Spock stood. Kirk waved a hand as he walked in front of the viewer and sat. ‘Don’t worry, Spock, stay where you are, I think it’ll just be a hello.’ The small viewscreen lit up, and Kirk lowered his voice to address it directly. ‘Bill! This is a pleasant surprise.’

There was a slightly muffed reply from the screen, and Kirk laughed.

As the conversation on the other side of the room continued, Spock became aware that Mitchell was watching him curiously. He looked at the man before him, and wondered again at the friendships that humans prized so highly. Not for the first time, he questioned their efficacy and appeal. Mitchell and Kirk appeared to have little in common other than their attendance at the Academy, and he doubted the wisdom of a Captain being such close friends with a member of his crew. Then set the line of thought aside for further consideration when he was more closely acquainted with James Kirk. Perhaps a reason would reveal itself.

Mitchell said, ‘Don’t kick his ass too hard.’

Spock said, ‘I beg your pardon, Commander?’

‘Jim. He doesn’t like to lose. Beat him too hard in that chess game and you’ll be scrubbing the nacelles the day after.’

Spock raised an eyebrow, said levelly, ‘I doubt that Captain Kirk would be so unprofessional.’

Gary, who had taken another swig of his drink, barked a laugh, ‘Yeah, maybe not. But he does hate to lose. Hands down the most competitive guy at the Academy. Had to be top at everything. One of the youngest tutors in its history.’

‘Captain Kirk’s record is indeed impressive. And I understood his tenure at the Academy to be exemplary.’

Gary grinned. ‘On the record, yeah. But off the record,’ he glanced across the room to where Kirk was absorbed in his conversation, and lowered his voice. ‘I could tell you some stories.’

Spock said quickly, ‘I do not believe that would be -’

Gary set his now empty glass down on the table with a snap. ‘Aw, come on Spock, live a little.’ He raised the bottle to pour another drink and blinked across at the Vulcan, ‘Can I tempt you?’

Spock strongly doubted the wisdom of Mitchell consuming any more alcohol. Whilst he wasn’t actually completely inebriated, he was becoming so with alarming speed. He wondered how long Gary had been drinking this evening already, debated momentarily whether it was his place to comment, and decided it was not. Aloud he said, ‘Vulcans do not -’

‘Oh yeah, I forgot.’ Gary nodded and poured his own drink. ‘Well, here’s the thing. One thing you’ll learn about Jim, he’s a goddamn honeypot. Can’t help it, seriously. People just throw themselves at him. I mean, you can see why, right? Could have had his way with half of the academy. But he didn’t.’ Mitchell made a pointing gesture towards a non-existent goal in front of him. ‘Too focused on the prize. But I tell you what, it’s a goddamn waste. He might’ve been a stack of books with legs, but he’s as loyal as they come and passionate as hell. Anyone lucky enough to get a date came back for seconds, that was for sure. And when he falls, he falls hard. I nearly got him married off once, after a dozen dates.’ Mitchell grinned at the memory. ‘But -’ he sighed, ‘the 'fleet, always the 'fleet. He’s gonna throw himself away on a goddamn starship if we don’t stop him. You and me, Mister Spock, we’ve got five years to find him someone. Stop him dying alone.’

Mitchell’s eyes settled on his friend across the room, where Kirk was listening intently and nodding along to something Rodriguez was saying. A suggestion began to niggle at Spock’s mind and he dismissed it as unworthy speculation before it could even fully form.

Gary was saying, ‘See, I think he respects your opinion already. You’re going the right way about making a good impression, anyway. Jim always did have a thing for brains.’ He leaned forward, lowered his voice even more. ‘And between you and me, he had a bit of thing for the aliens amongst us too.’

On Spock’s barely concealed perturbation, Gary burst out laughing. Across the room, Kirk glanced back at them with a bemused smile. Gary said, ‘God, don’t worry Mister Spock, you couldn’t be less his type if you tried.’

Spock said archly, ‘Commander, I believe this conversation to be highly - ‘

He was interrupted by Kirk’s voice from across the room. ‘Who isn’t who’s type?’ He rose and flicked off the viewer. ‘Gary, I hope you’re not trying to set Spock up with someone. I don’t want any member of my crew distracted with your hare-brained dating ideas.’ He looked to Spock as he walked over to them. ‘Honestly, a couple of successes pairing people off and suddenly he’s a one-man dating service.’

Mitchell muttered, ‘Nearly got you, too.’

Kirk said, ‘What?’

Mitchell said, ‘I was just about to share with Mister Spock some stories from his Captain’s Academy days.’

Kirk pulled a mock horrified face. ‘As if yours wouldn’t be worse. And fun as that would no doubt be for me, there’s no way it’s happening with this much alcohol inside you.’ He touched Gary’s shoulder lightly. ‘Get to bed and sleep it off, Mister.’

As Gary opened his mouth to protest, Kirk said mildly, ‘Consider that an order.’

Mitchell’s mouth snapped shut and he sighed, stood, and pushed away from the table.

As he reached the door, Kirk called, ‘And tell Scotty to water it down next time.’

Mitchell tossed off an amused salute. ‘Aye Sir.’

As the doors closed, Kirk sat and turned back to Spock with a rueful smile. ‘Apologies for your illogical human crewmates, Mister Spock. He means well.’

On Spock’s expression, he said, suddenly concerned, ‘Gary didn’t say anything he shouldn’t have, did he?’

Spock said slowly, ‘He intimated that I should allow you to win our chess game, lest I be reassigned to some menial task.’

Kirk laughed, and there was some relief in it. ‘Oh god, don’t listen to Gary. Bring your best game, Mister Spock, that’s an order. The better you are, the better I’ll get playing you.’ He smiled at his science officer. ‘I’m always looking to improve.’

'That is reassuring to hear, Captain.’

Kirk nodded, then said, ‘Listen, Spock, about what we were saying before. I was thinking about it whilst I was talking to Bill. Are there any other aspects of ship life that are too human optimised, to your mind? Any that bother you, for example?’

Spock tilted his head to one side as he regarded his commanding officer. ‘None that I cannot easily cope with, Captain.’

Kirk tilted his head and gave him a half smile. ‘You’re very good at that.’

Spock raised a questioning eyebrow.

Kirk said, ‘Telling me what you think I want to hear. I think we should establish, right now, that what I always want to hear is your honest opinion. Even if you think I won’t like it. Agreed?’

After a moment, Spock said, ‘We have two Andorian crew members. The ambient temperature of the ship is at least three degrees warmer than their comfortable range of temperatures.’

‘Optimised for humans again?’

‘Yes, Captain. For the record, I believe that a change in ship’s temperature of half a degree would make very little difference to my human crew-mates, but would reduce the need for lengthy recuperation in their Andorian colleagues.’ He added somewhat self-consciously. ‘I have not conducted a study, however.’

Kirk was looking at him curiously. ‘So – that's a guess?’

Spock said stiffly, ‘It is a likely extrapolation based on empirical research.’

Kirk made a humming sound. ‘You seem like someone who likes to back up their extrapolations with the appropriate research.’

‘I – proposed a study to Captain Pike. We had only one Andorian crew member at the time and he felt it would not be a constructive use of my time.’ He added quickly, ‘We were traversing a sector of substantial scientific interest. His decision as to the best allocation of my time was the correct one.’

Kirk thought, And aren’t you loyal, Mister Spock.

Spock added, ‘He also specifically forbade me from running the study in my own time.’

On Kirk’s face, he said, ‘Captain Pike was aware of my habit to conduct research off duty. I informed him that Vulcans do not require as much rest as humans, nevertheless, he became quite protective of his officer’s rest time.’

Kirk said, ‘Chris is a good man. And a damn good Fleet Captain.’ He took a breath. ‘Run your study, Mister Spock. Let’s see if we can’t optimise the Enterprise for all her crew.’

‘Thank you, Captain.’

Kirk added with a smile. ‘Keep it to duty hours if you can. Oh, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you didn’t answer my other question.’

Spock’s expression didn’t noticeably change, but his demeanour became less formal and more ‘kid with hand in cookie jar'.

Kirk thought absently, am I getting better at reading you or are you opening up to me?

Aloud he said, ‘I’ve been to Vulcan. Only briefly, but long enough to know that the ambient temperature would make the Sahara feel a bit nippy.’

Spock said, and Kirk was sure there was some amusement in his tone, although his face remained neutral, ‘That is an egregious exaggeration, Captain.’

Kirk smiled. ‘Well maybe a little. My point is, don’t you find the ship cold?’

He watched with fascination as a number of thoughts played themselves out across Spock’s face. The movements of facial muscles were almost infinitesimal, but Kirk was sure, given time, he’d be able to read his science officer very well indeed. He watched Spock briefly consider denying it, then settle for an uncomfortable, ‘It is true that the ambient temperature of the ship is lower than it would be on a Vulcan vessel, however I am accustomed to it, and I can assure you, Captain, that it does not interfere with my efficiency in any way.’

Kirk said gently, ‘I’m quite sure it doesn’t, Mister Spock. All the same, I’d like you to expand your study to include all of the non-human personnel on the Enterprise, yourself included, and any other areas you feel relevant. Bring me a revised proposal by the end of the week.’

Spock blinked in surprise. ‘Yes, Captain.’

Kirk said, ‘In the meantime, I assume that any personal areas of the ship are being adjusted to suit the personnel concerned?’

Spock stared at him. ‘I’m sorry, Captain?’

Kirk said, ‘Well, your quarters, Mister Spock. For example. I’m assuming you keep them at a higher temperature than the rest of the ship?’

Spock said, and his tone was only mildly censorious, ‘Starfleet guidelines on the subject of temperature on starships are quite clear. Also, heating my quarters to a temperature above that of my crewmates would be a drain on the Enterprise's energy resource for personal reasons.’

Kirk looked at him in amused surprise. ‘Of a negligible amount, Spock. And guidelines are just that. You don’t have to keep to them.’

Spock said stiffly, ‘Nevertheless, Captain.’

Kirk pressed his lips together for a moment, then took a breath. ‘Mister Spock, would you humor me in something?’

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Kirk said, ‘When you get back to your quarters this evening, raise the temperature.’

‘Is that an order, Captain?’

Kirk tipped his head. ‘Consider it a suggestion. To satisfy your Captain’s curiosity. You could use the qualitative data as part of your study.’

Spock didn’t speak for a moment, then said. ‘Very well. I shall- try it.’

Kirk grinned. ‘Attaboy, Mister Spock. Spirit of scientific adventure, and all that.’

Spock regarded him with the air of a man not entirely sure whether he was being teased. Kirk smiled at him across the table, then stood. ‘I’m keeping you from your evening again.’ He thought he wasn’t imagining Spock’s look of relief at the change of subject.

Spock stood in his turn. ‘Not at all, Captain.’

Kirk turned on his way to the door of his quarters. ‘Oh, you came to ask about chess.’

Spock stopped beside him. ‘Yes, Captain.’

‘I’m a bit tied up tomorrow, how about the day after? We could have a match after alpha shift, if you like. We’ll be beginning our trek out to the galactic barrier.’

‘Indeed Captain, that would be appropriate.’

‘Great.’ Kirk grinned. ‘First starship out that far, Mister Spock. History in the making. Can't wait to see what’s out there.’

Spock looked at his Captain with curiosity. He was practically radiant with suppressed excitement and anticipation. How very human. He said, ‘I hope it will be appropriately scientifically edifying, Captain.’

He wasn’t sure what he’d said to amuse, but Kirk laughed. ‘Oh indeed, Mister Spock.’

*

The next five and a half months passed in something of a blur, even for someone with Vulcan powers of recall. There were endless drills and exercises as the new crewmembers who had arrived with Captain Kirk, and those who were old hands from Captain Pike’s days, began to establish their new working relationships.

Spock, who had expected some minor disruption to his professional life, but very little in the way of alteration to his quiet, uneventful personal routine, was somewhat taken aback to discover that his company was, unexpectedly, in demand.

James Kirk, far from making a polite effort to get to know his science officer, then leaving him be, as Spock had expected, seemed determined to source Spock’s opinion on matters of ship’s life that were, not always, strictly within Spock’s remit to comment on. Sometimes this would lead to a conversation or debate, and sometimes Kirk would simply listen, as if filing something away for later consideration, smile, and say, ‘Thank you, Mister Spock.’

Spock found himself entirely unable to anticipate what his Captain’s reaction would be on any given topic. It was – somewhat frustrating, and yet mildly intriguing.

They had managed to carve out time for a regular chess game, and to Spock’s surprise, Kirk had proved himself to be an extremely able player. Kirk’s approach to chess was similar to his command and conversational styles – a solid grounding of theory and technique, that should have been predictable, interspersed with leaps of instinct and intuition that would leave Spock’s strategy floundering in their wake. It should have been irritating, but as the months slid by, Spock found himself oddly exhilarated by the experience. Kirk’s ability to surprise him was an endless source of fascination. He would often spend time after a shift attempting to examine the logic by which Kirk had arrived at some unexpected, but successful course of action. This endeavor rarely met with success, and he vowed to observe his Captain more closely, and make a mental note of decisions upon which he would like elucidation, should the opportunity for detailed discussion arise.

Kirk had embraced his cautious suggestions for alterations to the Enterprise’s shift schedules, ambient temperatures, and other minor, but appropriate changes throughout the ship, tailored to all of the species that comprised the Enterprise’s crew, not simply the human element. Spock had been careful to present his report to the Captain without the presence of Gary Mitchell, who seemed to view the whole project as unnecessary indulgence on Kirk’s part.

Spock’s own relationship with Mitchell had been, in some ways, improved by the Captain's presence. Mitchell seemed more tolerant of him, now Kirk’s good opinion of his science officer had been established. However, more than once, Spock had sensed a reluctance on Mitchell’s part to include him in any off-duty activities. It was always Kirk who would call expansively, ‘Mister Spock, why don’t you join us?’ when Gary proposed an evening in the rec room, or a drink in Kirk’s quarters. Spock was careful not to accept too often. Much as he was beginning to enjoy the company of his Captain, it was clear that Mitchell resented him taking up too much of Kirk’s time.

On one occasion, Kirk had been obviously tired when their weekly chess game had been due, so Spock had offered to reschedule. This had been rejected, but Spock, still concerned for his Captain’s energy levels, had suggested that perhaps a less public – their rec room matches often attracted an audience these days – game would lend itself to a more relaxing atmosphere. Kirk had agreed with surprising readiness, so Spock had brought his own board to the Captain’s quarters.

Kirk had relaxed almost immediately, his entire demeanor becoming less formal as soon as they were in private. Spock found himself intrigued by these glimpses of the man behind his commanding officer. Kirk had become more relaxed in general as the weeks went by, crew performance improved, and Captain and crew adjusted to each other, but he was different again in the privacy of his quarters. Although Spock was never less than acutely aware of the chain of command between them, Kirk seemed to drop the armor of rank and smile more, laugh more easily, when off duty. And the fact that he did so in Spock’s company was – illogically pleasing.

Spock was trying to devise a cogent rationale to move all of their games to Kirk’s quarters, when the door chime sounded. Mitchell entered almost before his ‘Come in’, and looked in surprise at their game.

‘Well, this is cosy. Private chess today?’

Kirk said mildly. 'Sick of the rec room, problem?’

‘Only that you were meant to be meeting me for cards, remember?’ Gary held up a deck in a vaguely accusatory manner.

Kirk closed his eyes momentarily. ‘Damn, Gary, I’m sorry, it’s been a hell of a long shift.’ He gestured to his desk chair. ‘Take a seat, we won’t be long.’ His eyes slid to his science officer. ‘I’ll have Mister Spock here checkmated in seven moves.’ A small smile crept to his face as he looked a challenge at Spock.

Spock looked up from the board and arched an eyebrow at his commanding officer. ‘That is unlikely, Captain.’

Kirk grinned. ‘We'll see then, won’t we Mister Spock.’ He reached across to move his queen to the third level and Spock frowned.

As the game continued, Gary, who had dragged the desk chair over, and sat down, was watching with barely concealed impatience. ‘I thought you were some kind of master at this, Spock. How is the illogical human managing to kick your ass?’

Spock said, a little stiffly, ‘The Captain is an adept player.’

Kirk shot Mitchell an arch ‘See?’ look, which he ignored.

Spock continued, ‘His method of play relies heavily on sudden illogical changes of strategy, and unpredictable acts of highly risky play.’

Kirk said with amusement, ‘Mate in three.’

Spock stared in disapproval at the board.

Gary said, ‘So what you’re saying is, he flies by the seat of his pants? Colour me shocked.’

Spock said absently as he moved a piece, ‘Actually, the Captain's play is rooted in sound and often highly advanced technique, however he improvises around this knowledge in a most impressive manner.’

Kirk, who had reached to move his own piece, looked up in surprise at the compliment, and his expression softened.

Gary said roughly, ‘Flatter all you like Mister Spock, he’ll still kick your ass.’

Kirk frowned at him. Spock reached for the board, and said mildly, ‘My assessment was accurate, not flattering, Mister Mitchell. Check, Captain.’

Kirk's attention flew back to the board, ‘A valiant attempt Mister Spock, but – checkmate.’

Spock inclined his head. ‘The game is yours, Captain.’

‘Well played, Mister Spock.’

Gary sighed. ‘Well thank god for that.’

Kirk looked across at him. ‘Listen Gary,  - would you mind if we played tomorrow? I’m beat.’

Mitchell sighed heavily, then said, ‘Okay. Sure.’

‘Thanks Gary.’ Kirk reached across and gave his friend’s arm a squeeze before standing. ‘Well, goodnight, gentlemen.’

Spock and Mitchell also stood, moving to the door. ‘Goodnight, Captain.’ ‘Night, Jim.’

As the door to Kirk’s quarters closed behind them, and they began to walk, Mitchell said, a little testily, ‘I know Vulcans don’t need as much downtime as the rest of us, Mister Spock, but you should consider when the Captain needs to rest, and not monopolize his off duty time.’

As Spock stared at him in disbelief, he continued, ‘I realize you've got fond of Jim, and you don’t have many friends to choose from, but try to remember the responsibilities he has.’ He stopped outside his quarters. ‘I’ll see you on the bridge tomorrow. G'night.’

He entered his quarters and the doors closed before Spock could respond.

He walked slowly to his own quarters. He was illogically stung by Mitchell’s remarks. It was true that by human standards, he did not have friends, but as a Vulcan, such a thing did not concern him. He did not believe he had come to consider James Kirk as such. However, he habitually accepted the Captain’s invitations to spend time together outside of their duties, even when there was no need for him to do so. And he had begun to regard time with his Captain with a kind of – pleasurable anticipation. Did this indicate a level of fondness, as Mitchell had asserted? Such a thing would be most unVulcan. The thought was – uncomfortable.

Perhaps Mitchell was correct. Perhaps he was unknowingly taking advantage of his Captain’s generosity with his time. He should therefore spend less time in his company, for both their sakes.

Decision made, it was a resolution he stuck to, even in the face of what almost looked like disappointment from Kirk when his suggestions of chess games were, occasionally, politely rebuffed.

Until the Enterprise reached the galactic barrier.

*

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 1382.1 (Terran calendar: 26th October 2265)

James Kirk stood in the darkness of the observation deck, watching the deeper darkness outside. He usually came here to see the stars, but now, in the still quiet of ship’s night, all he could see was the never-ending black.

Gary was dead.

He’d had twenty-four hours to process the information, and it hadn’t really penetrated his mind at all. He expected, at any moment, the door to open, and Gary would walk in, smile, and ask him what the hell all that nonsense had been about. They’d have a drink and make it up. That was how it had always been. So part of his mind leapt at every swish of a door opening – on the bridge, in sickbay, in his quarters. Waiting for Gary Mitchell.

Who would never come. Never come, because his best friend, James Kirk, had killed him. Killed him and buried him beneath a rockfall on the furthest planet from Earth that humankind had ever reached. Buried him, and left him to rot. Kirk closed his eyes against the sting of that thought. Even in death, he’d betrayed his friend. Listened to the argument that they had no idea whether the power of the entity that had possessed Mitchell and Dehner could transfer after death. So he’d left them there, with a buoy to warn incoming starships of the trap the Enterprise and her personnel had fallen into.

At least he’d been able to leave commendations on their files. It was, in the circumstances, the very least he could do, and he felt the inadequacy of it like a pain he couldn’t ease.

He looked at the chrono on the wall. Two am, ship’s time. He had tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Gary’s face. Saw that chilling silver fade to the usual warm brown, saw the sad, desperate face of his friend. Heard his voice. Jim. Help me. Heard him lost, and terrified, and- Kirk pressed a hand to the viewing window, and leaned his head to rest it against the cool surface, willing the memories out of his conscious mind.

Behind him, he heard the door to the observation deck open and close.

Gary.

Footsteps echoed through the space. At this hour, even with the Enterprise’s crew working different shifts, the observation deck was empty, as he had hoped it would be. The steps came to a halt a little way behind his right shoulder. After a moment, he said tiredly, ‘No plasma conduits to fix tonight, Mister Spock?’

His science officer’s voice broke the ensuing silence.

‘Good evening, Captain.’

‘It’s the middle of the night, Spock.’

‘Yes, Captain.’

‘You should be resting.’

‘As should you, Captain.’

Kirk closed his eyes. He needed sleep. Even the use of his rank felt like a physical blow. ‘Jim .’

‘I’m sorry, sir?’

‘Jim. Just – for now, Spock. Please.’

Silence fell for a while.

Eventually, Spock said, hesitantly, ‘I have served on the Enterprise for thirteen years. In that time, I have observed that - when a crewmember is lost, their human comrades - lean more heavily on their colleagues in the aftermath of the event.’

Kirk didn’t respond. Spock continued, still with that tentative tone, ‘I am aware that Commander Mitchell was your closest friend on the ship, and that the rest of the crew remain primarily those selected by Captain Pike, until our final new intake arrive in a weeks' time.’

Kirk heard his science officer swallow, then continue, ‘I know that our acquaintance is of relatively short duration. However, I wished to communicate that, should you wish to speak of these events to – a friend, rather than a colleague, I would not be - averse to fulfilling that role.’

Kirk closed his eyes. He didn’t want to speak of them. Didn't want to speak at all. But even in his grief he remained conscious of the considerable effort his science officer was making. Kirk didn’t turn, but his voice was heavy when he said, ‘Thank you. I –’ he broke off. ‘Thank you.’

They stood for a long time, staring at the endless black. Kirk had expected that Spock, having said what he came to say, would leave. But he didn’t. And the longer he stood there, the less his presence felt intrusive, and the more it felt – comforting.

After a while, he said quietly, ‘I keep thinking I – should have done something differently. Should’ve stopped it. I keep going over it, but I can’t see what.’

Spock said, matching his tone, ‘I have identified a potential flaw in your actions.’

Kirk’s said sharply, ‘Just the one?’

‘After Mitchell knocked us out on Delta Vega, you instructed Doctor Piper not to wake me until you had gone after him. You should have allowed me to accompany you. The risk was far greater alone.’

Kirk turned to him, said bitterly, ‘I killed my best friend. And your objection is that I should have let you help?’

'Jim.' Spock’s voice was soft. ‘This is not a burden you should have had to carry alone.’

Kirk drew in a sharp breath against the sudden obstruction in his throat and turned back to the darkness. He knew without looking that Spock remained at his side.

After a while, he said tiredly, ‘You were right. What you said in the briefing room. I should have - acted earlier. I nearly left it too late. Without Doctor Dehner - ‘ he broke off, but didn’t turn away from the window. Or the endless black. ‘That’s why I didn’t want you there. I wanted you to get my ship away. Safe. I didn’t want anyone else to pay for my mistakes.’

Spock said, still in that soft tone. ‘Jim, five months ago you asked me to always be honest with you. I shall avail myself of that freedom now. I would ask that, in future, whatever the circumstances may be, even if you believe the prospects to be bleak, and your actions to be flawed, that you allow me the chance to remain at your side.’

Kirk took a long, slow breath. The world before him was still dark, and distorted now through gathering tears that he refused to let fall. But, faintly, he could see the stars again.

*

One week later, Kirk ran a hand through his hair, and stared again at the padds arrayed in front of him. The final complement of his crew was due tomorrow, and he was confident in his decisions, and those of his department heads. Of course, there was no certainty until everyone was on board and working together, but he felt like he’d given his ship the best chance of excellence.

The initial shakedown would be difficult – they always were – but he was determined to minimize the time his newly complete crew took on their learning curve. He had put together a more comprehensive programme of drills and exercises designed to both improve his crew, and cement them as a team, than even he himself had ever been subjected to. He smiled to himself, remembering his own days as a midshipman. There would be more than one Ensign and junior grade Lieutenant cursing his name in the weeks to come.

The deaths of Gary and Lee Kelso had left the bridge alpha shift without a helmsman and a navigator, and he’d had to rethink the bridge assignments. To his immense relief, his first choice, Lieutenant Sulu, had accepted a move from Head of Astrophysics to permanent helmsman. He was looking forward to having the man's calm competence as a regular feature on the bridge.

He hadn’t appointed a permanent navigator, as no one candidate had been exceptional, and the position would be filled on a rotating basis by appropriately competent staff until a permanent appointment could be made. It wasn’t the ideal arrangement, but it was the best he had for now.

The current staff shortages in communications and medical would be resolved when the new crew arrived tomorrow, so only one position remained unfilled.

First officer.

Starfleet command was more than a little impatient for his decision. They’d offered to send him a new candidate of their choice, and he’d refused point blank. He hadn’t taken weeks sweating over the right balance of skills and personality for his senior staff, only for Starfleet to throw him a last minute curveball and wreck all his hard work. No, promotion from within was the best way.

Which left him with a list of current command level crew to pick from. In terms of seniority and length of service, the answer was obvious. There were two officers on board with the rank of Commander and lengths of service exceeding Kirk’s own. Unfortunately for the officers concerned, James Kirk didn’t have a lot of time for the notion of promoting someone because they hadn’t died. Neither did he have much time for the notion of rank as an indicator of competence. He knew enough Admirals he wouldn’t trust to pass a basic flight exam to make that a non starter.

So he had spent the week going from department to department within the ship, talking to their heads, who would be directly answerable to whoever he appointed, and as many of their staff as possible who were happy to chat to the Captain. The Enterprise wasn’t a democracy, but he hadn’t worked with all of the officers under consideration very long, and the opinion of their colleagues was a somewhat relevant factor. And on that basis too, the choice had been obvious. Commander Darren, the Enterprise’s security Chief, was competent, popular, and more than one of his fellow crew members had dropped less than subtle hints about his promotion. Kirk himself had a great deal of time for Darren, and it was far from the worst idea he’d heard.

Only one person had suggested the choice that Kirk’s best instincts were screaming at him to make. His Chief Engineer, in the middle of a conversation about conservation of power aboard the Enterprise, had said, ‘Aye, well, it’ll be up to Commander Spock to knock heads t’gither at the Heads of Department meetin’ next week. Make sure no-one's usin’ more’an their share.’

Kirk had said, somewhat bemused, ‘Commander Spock will knock heads together?’

Scotty had suddenly realised his misstep and said hastily, ‘Er, well, aye. Or whoever gets the post. Sir.’

Kirk had said interestedly, and in a manner far more open about the purpose of this conversation than he'd used with anyone else, ‘You’re – assuming I'll appoint Spock.’

Scotty said awkwardly, ‘Well, aye.’

‘Could you tell me why? It won’t go any further.’

Scotty looked like he wanted to crawl into his engines and not come out. ‘Aye, well, he's -, well, he’s – obviously - the best for the job. Cap'n. Sir.’

Kirk said, taking pity on him, ‘Thank you for your input, Mister Scott.’

‘Aye, Sir.’ The engineer hurried away in relief.

Staring at the choices before him now, Kirk knew he agreed entirely with his Chief Engineer. Spock would need to be promoted to the correct rank, had never served as the first officer of a frontline starship, and had been suggested as a possibility by precisely one of his over four hundred crewmates. There had even seemed to be an assumption amongst the rest that Spock wasn’t even being considered for the role, which Kirk had found slightly irksome.

And yet. He was the closest Kirk had ever seen to over qualified for the role of science officer. His academic record alone would have secured him a role on the staff of any institute of higher education in the galaxy. His department was the best performing on the ship. No one had come within a million miles of querying his competence.

The unspoken objections that existed appeared to be based on the notion that Spock would be excluded from consideration because of who he was, not what he’d done. And yet, it was who he was that had convinced Kirk of his suitability for the role. He been impressed by Spock's service record even before he’d met him, but he'd been more impressed with the man himself.

Nevertheless, the idea seemed to persist that Spock’s Vulcan nature made him unsuitable to command a ship of primarily human crew. Well, Kirk wasn’t buying it. Setting aside any anti-alien element in that objection, which was outright unacceptable on any Starfleet vessel, he did understand the fear sometimes present in human crewmembers of being commanded by someone who either lacked, or refused to acknowledge, the emotions so central to human existence. Not that it should ever make a difference. Orders, after all, were orders, whoever they came from.

What he didn’t understand, however, was how anyone could spend five minutes in Spock’s company and believe those objections had any merit whatsoever. He didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, but surely it’s existence was obvious to the meanest observer. The fact that Spock chose to follow the Vulcan path of logic made no difference, in Kirk’s mind, to his suitability as a potential first officer.

And yes, maybe he was relatively inexperienced in command roles. But everyone had to start somewhere. And Jim Kirk was more than happy to share expertise in the particular area to which he’d dedicated his entire life.

He absently rearranged the pile of candidates in front of him so Spock’s service record now sat at the top. His science officer’s picture looked back at him.

Spock’s eyes were incredibly dark. Kirk remembered him mentioning human ancestry and wondered how far back it went. Obviously not more than the handful of generations since regular interaction between Earth and Vulcan had been established. Spock himself couldn’t look more Vulcan if he’d tried. He wondered if Spock would object to being asked. Or perhaps his Captain’s curiosity should wait for further acquaintance.

He looked at the image in front of him, drew a slow breath, and felt soul deep certainty settle through his bones. He reached across his desk to the comm switch, and threw it.

‘Captain Kirk to Lieutenant Commander Spock.’

The reply was almost instantaneous, although Spock was technically off duty. ‘Spock here, Captain.’

‘Spock, can I see you in my quarters, if you’re not busy?’

‘I will be there in two point five minutes, Captain.’

Kirk closed the comm link and smiled at the unnecessary precision. He supposed he’d have to get used to it.

Two point five minutes later the door alert sounded.

‘Come in.’

Spock entered, looking, as ever, as if he’d just come on shift five minutes previously, and not like it was the end of a long and tiring day.

Kirk knew damn well they didn’t teach that at the Academy and wondered, not for the first time, what his secret was.

Aloud he said, ‘Thank you for coming so promptly, Mister Spock, I know you were off duty.’

‘How may I be of service, Captain?’

‘Take a seat.’

Spock sat where Kirk gestured, ramrod straight in the chair across his desk, and waited patiently.

Kirk said, getting straight to the point, ‘As you know, Starfleet has asked me to appoint a first officer by the end of the day. I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought over the last week, and I’d like to ask you.’

Spock looked at him expectantly.

Kirk waited.

Spock appeared to realise some response was required, and said uncertainly, ‘Is there a particular candidate on whose performance you would like my opinion, Captain?’

Kirk took a second to realise they were not even remotely on the same page.

‘Oh.’ He smiled. ‘No, Spock. I don’t want your opinion -'

Spock nodded, said, ‘Of course. You would like me to stick to facts. Quite logical, Captain. I am given to understand from my fellow department heads that Commander Darren’s name is being considered. I have always found him efficient, and well suited to his current position.’ He stopped, and at the look on Kirk's face, said, ‘I am also assured that he is highly personable, and believe that he would be an effective first officer.’

Kirk said, trying to vain to suppress a smile, ‘Well, you’ll get no argument from me. I served with Commander Darren on the Farragut. He’s a fine man. But I’m not making him my first officer.’

His science officer’s face assumed that expression that Kirk was coming to recognise as a Vulcan frown. He said, ‘My apologies, Captain, I should not have assumed.’

Kirk smiled at him. ‘Okay, let’s start this again.’ He took a breath. ‘Lieutenant Commander Spock. I would like to promote you, effectively immediately, to the rank of Commander and appoint you to the post of First Officer of the Federation Starship Enterprise. Also effective immediately.’

A moment went by and Spock’s expression didn’t change. Kirk realised he was seeing a Vulcan lost for words and inwardly cherished the moment, even as he said, ‘Spock, you got that, right? I was clear enough?’

Spock said faintly, ‘Yes, Captain.’

Kirk smiled, and slapped his hand on the desk. ‘Great. Well, I’ll get the paperwork started then.’ He stood, and extended a hand to his new first officer. ‘Congratulations, Commander.’

Spock had stood automatically as Kirk did, but he didn’t take the proffered hand.

Kirk frowned slightly, dropped his hand, and said, ‘Sorry Spock, is there some kind of Vulcan salutation for such an occasion? I’m not aware of -’

Spock said quietly, ‘There is not.’ He moved then, an oddly nervous motion, taking a few steps away from the desk before turning back to face his Captain.

Kirk rounded the desk and leaned against the side Spock had just vacated. ‘Is there problem, Mister Spock?’

When no answer was immediately forthcoming, he said, more gently, in an attempt to lighten the suddenly serious mood, ‘Well, this is the most unenthusiastic reaction I've ever had to an offer of promotion.’

Spock said quickly, ‘Captain, I – I appreciate your consideration of me.’ He seemed to feel that was inadequate, so he added, ‘Very much so.’

Kirk looked at him in surprise.

‘However, I cannot agree with your assessment that I would be the best choice for first officer.’

‘Why on earth not?’ Kirk was looking at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Enlighten me as to the better choice, Mister Spock, I’m curious.’

Spock drew a breath. ‘I have been informed that I am temperamentally unsuited to the command of a starship crewed by primarily human personnel.’

Kirk stared at him, bit back his initial sharp response of ‘What dammed idiot told you that?' and said evenly, ‘Surely, as your Captain, that’s for me to judge.’

Spock lowered his head in acknowledgement of this, but said, ‘Captain, I believe there to be some truth in the statement. I have been informed by my human colleagues on various occasions that, amongst other things, I lack compassion, sensitivity, sympathy, emotional intelligence, and that I am unapproachable. It has been represented to me that this renders me unsuitable as a person they would look to for guidance, although they might follow my orders. I have also been informed by various command track tutors that my approach is overly detailed, lacks flexibility, is too reliant on logic, and does not allow for the possibility of intuition, or what one tutor referred to as ’gut instinct’.

Kirk looked at him in disbelief. And you’ve remembered every single one of those negative comments, haven’t you, Mister Spock. He drew a deep breath, looked to the ceiling, and exhaled slowly.

Then he looked back to his science officer, and said with conviction, ‘Mister Spock, I have been informed that I am occasionally, a little hot headed. I have been informed that I have a tendency to rush in where angels fear to tread, to utilize an old earth expression. I have been informed that I am insufficiently reliant on logic - I know you’ll find that hard to believe -’ he shot his science officer a look of conspiratorial amusement and was rewarded with a slight raise of one eyebrow, ‘- and that I rely too heavily on old fashioned ‘gut instinct’, and what would amount to clever guesswork.’

‘All of which to say: we each have our strengths. For the record, on the evidence so far, I’d say a lot of what you’ve been told is crap, but even if it weren’t, those qualities that you’ve been told are your biggest flaws? I need those. Am I too emotional in this job sometimes? Yes. You saw that with Gary. You were right to pull me up on it.’ He took a breath and continued, ‘Do I occasionally want to act before considering all the potential consequences? Yes. Do I need someone to keep my feet on the ground, to give me all the relevant details? Yes.’

‘Those qualities you’ve been told first officers need? They’re right. In the theoretical. But I’m not looking for a theoretical first officer. I’m looking for my first officer. Someone who will have my back, complement my strengths, and strengthen my weaknesses. Everything you’ve just said has made me even more convinced that person is you.’

He paused, leaned his weight against the desk, and sighed. ‘Spock, I - I owe you an apology. I made one of those comments you’ve just referred to. Ten days ago, in the briefing room. It was unworthy of me, and unjust to you, and I apologise unreservedly. It won’t happen again.’

He paused for a moment, watching the man before him and giving the statement a chance to land, before he continued, ‘Look, I won’t promote you without your agreement, it’s not my style. But I would ask you to think about what I’ve said. I believe that -’

‘I accept.’ Spock’s voice was quiet, but certain.

Kirk, whose mind had been halfway through another argument, said, ‘Sorry, did you -?’

‘I thank you for your offer, Captain, and should like to accept, effective immediately.’

Kirk grinned. ‘Spock, that’s - that’s great.’ He wasn’t sure he was succeeding in keeping the relief out of his voice. ‘That’s really great. What changed your mind?’

‘Your argument was persuasive. I was also thinking in the general, and had not considered the variables of this particular situation. However, I believe you are correct. For this ship and this crew, I believe I may be the – logical choice.’

‘I should have opened with the logic argument. Noted.’ He stepped forward, extended his hand.

‘Shall we try this again? Congratulations, Commander Spock.’

Spock hesitated for only a moment, before moving closer and enclosing Kirk’s hand with his own. ‘Thank you, Captain. I shall endeavour to justify your faith in me.’

Kirk almost laughed, brought his other hand up to cover Spock’s. ‘Mister Spock, I am certain that you will.’ Something of his complete conviction of the truth of this statement must have communicated itself to Spock, because his expression gentled, and something that could almost have been a smile hovered around the corners of his mouth. Kirk watched the change of expression in pleased fascination before realising that he still had hold of Spock’s hand. His skin, cooler than expected, was beginning to warm under Kirk’s touch.

He released his newly appointed first officer’s hand, and adopted a serious expression. ‘There is a potential downside to this situation that I don’t think you’ve considered, Mister Spock.’

Spock looked at him, and Jim could almost see the wheels turning as he reviewed the consequences of his decision. ‘To what are you referring, Captain?’

Kirk smiled. ‘You're going to be spending a lot more time with me.’

Spock’s face drained of expression. ‘It is a hardship I will be forced to bear, Captain.’

For the briefest of moments, Kirk experienced the sinking sensation that he might be serious, then he caught Spock’s eye. There was amusement in those brown depths, and he laughed in relief.

‘Okay, I walked into that, but you can bet I’ll be more careful in future.’ He smiled at his new first officer for a moment, then said, ‘Great. I’ll let you rest now, but come back tomorrow an hour before alpha lift and we’ll start working through the parameters of your new role.’

Spock said, and Kirk could have sworn that there was a warmth in his tone that hadn’t been there before. ‘I look forward to it, Captain.’

He said affectionately, ‘G’night, Spock.’

‘Goodnight, Captain.’

As Spock left, Kirk turned towards his bed and let out a sigh of pure relief. It was going to be okay. This was the right decision. He knew it in his bones.

For the first time since Gary’s death, he thought he might actually get a good night’s sleep.

*

Notes:

Next Chapter: McCoy! And Uhura!

Chapter 3: The Doctor, and these Women

Notes:

Scenes set around the episode Mudd's Women, and before The Corbomite Maneuver. Again, any questions, drop a note in the comments. xx

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

USS Enterprise,  Stardate: 1388.2 (Terran calendar: 3rd  November 2265)  

It was the swearing that caught Spock’s attention as he passed the transporter room. That, and the raised voice. Deciding that he could afford to delay his return to the Enterprise’s main lab by at least seven minutes, he diverted his steps to investigate the sound.  

As he entered the transporter room, the chief was saying, with the air of a man beating his head against a wall, ‘Honestly, sir, it was a perfectly normal beam in, no problems at all.’ 

On the edge of the transporter platform a human male in an over -large jacket was sitting slumped next to a travelling bag, head in his hands. Spock heard, slightly muffled, ‘Says you who wasn’t the one in the goddamned beam, with his atoms being scattered all over -' 

Spock addressed the transporter chief. ‘Was there a problem with the transport, Lieutenant?’ 

The chief said hastily, ‘Not at all, sir, completely textbook.’ 

The figure on the platform looked up at the new voice, and said dryly, ‘And you must be the welcoming committee. Unusual assignment for a Vulcan.’ 

Spock was trying to identify the accent. Definitely Earth. Americas. Aloud he said, ‘I am Commander Spock, First Officer of the Enterprise.’ There was still a most unVulcan thrill associated with saying that out loud, which he ruthlessly suppressed.  

‘Well, ain’t that a treat for me.’ The man's voice was pleasant, if currently unidentifiable. ‘Where is he then, Captain Pressgang? Too busy to greet an old friend?’ 

Spock said icily, ‘Captain Kirk is on the bridge and is not in the habit of leaving his duties thereon to greet arriving personnel. What is your -' 

‘Ohhhh is he not? Well you tell him I didn’t come half way across the galaxy and suffer the trauma of a ritual atom scattering just to be -' 

Spock interrupted blandly, ‘For a Starfleet officer, your understanding of the functioning of the transporter is concerningly deficient.’ 

The figure gaped at him. His voice rose again. ‘I’ll give you deficient, you - 

Spock’s ears detected the rapid beat of footsteps outside the room just before the doors slid open and Kirk entered at a rush. He spied the figure on the floor and grinned in delight. ‘Bones!’  He seized the older man under the arms and dragged him upright and into a crushing hug.  

Spock noted that the expression on the newcomer’s face, which he had assumed was a permanent frown, relaxed immediately, although his voice was still rough as he said, ‘It’s about time. Your Vulcan here was just telling how you’re too busy and important to fraternize with the plebes.’ 

Spock opened his mouth to protest this interpretation of his words but Kirk was already laughing, saying, ‘Yes, and I’m sure those were his exact words.’ In the tone he used – and Spock was just slightly proud of himself for being able to identify this – when he actually meant the opposite of whatever he was saying. The illogic of humans was seemingly endless.  

McCoy’s face had relaxed further into a look of amusement at Kirk’s laugh, and he said, with more warmth than Spock had observed thus far, ‘It's good to see you, Jim. Looks like the center chair suits you.’ 

Kirk released him to arm's length as he said, ‘Good to see you too, Bones. God, I can’t tell you how much. I am in desperate need of a good CMO, and happily for me, you’re the best.’ 

Spock raised an eyebrow. This – scruffy, rude, transporter-averse human - was the decorated doctor of whom the Captain had spoken? It seemed unlikely, and yet, here he was. 

The doctor was saying, looking gruffly pleased, ‘Well, I don’t know about that.’  

A thought seemed to occur to him and the smile fell away. He said seriously, ‘Jim – I was so sorry to hear about Gary.’ 

Spock stiffened, glancing at Kirk. Only in the last few days had his Captain begun to regain some of the natural ebullience that had characterized the man Spock had met on his first day. The reminder of Commander Mitchell’s death was unwelcome and Spock stared at the doctor in tense disapproval.  

Kirk said, his smile fading, ‘Thanks, Bones. It’s been- ‘ he broke off. ‘Yeah. I wish you’d been here.’ 

An odd sensation arose in Spock’s gut. A feeling of being, in some way, inadequate. He squashed it immediately. It was highly illogical to seek to replace a friendship of long standing with an association of only months in duration.  

The doctor had gripped Kirk’s arms in a show of support and Kirk was smiling again, albeit not quite so widely, as he turned to Spock.  

‘Luckily, I had Commander Spock here to look out for me.’ The doctor looked like he didn't think this would have been much compensation. ‘Spock, this is Leonard McCoy, our new Chief Medical Officer.’ 

Spock said stiffly, ‘I am – pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor McCoy.’ 

McCoy stuck out a hand, and began, ‘Like –‘ before Kirk elbowed him in the ribs. He turned to Kirk in surprise, and the latter inclined his head towards Spock, eyebrows raised. McCoy’s face fell. Kirk looked at him. McCoy opened his mouth to make what Spock was sure would have been a protest of some description. Kirk stared him down.  

The doctor glared back, then issued a pointed sigh and slowly raised a hand. Spock frowned slightly, wondering why the doctor was waggling his fingers at him. Kirk rolled his eyes, reached across, and physically moved McCoy’s hand into the ta'al.  

McCoy said, still looking daggers at Kirk, who was grinning, ‘Live long and prosper, Commander.’ Spock didn’t think he’d ever heard the greeting so unenthusiastically delivered. He also didn’t think he’d come so perilously close to smiling in public in recent memory.  

Kirk said, still cheerful, ‘I knew you two would get along.’ 

Nyota Uhura was nervous. It wasn’t a sensation she felt often, and it wasn’t one she liked now. Nevertheless, there it was. She was holding a padd in her hand, and her bag in the other. The padd could easily have fitted in her bag, but she couldn’t put it away, lest she succumb to the temptation to bite her thumbnail with nerves. And she’d spent some little time yesterday trying to stem her nerves with some pampering, and she had truly superb nails that she didn’t want to ruin. So she bit her lip instead as she waited on the transporter pad.  

‘Sorry about this Lieutenant,’ the tech’s head appeared from behind the console. ‘We’re nearly there.’  

‘Don’t worry, Lieutenant,’ she said gently, ‘Just as soon as you can.’  

He smiled dazedly at her for a few moments, until she cleared her throat and he seemed to remember his purpose and ducked back behind the console. A few minutes later there was a pop and a hiss and he swore, then called, ‘Nearly there, Lieutenant’ in a voice that was more hopeful than reassuring. Uhura sighed and shifted her weight.  

Her thoughts turned again to her destination. The Enterprise. For five years. To the ends of the known galaxy, under the youngest Captain in the ‘fleet. Her first deep space assignment. Her first Head of Department role. Her first regular bridge assignment. Her hand tightened on her bag. She’d heard some conflicting reports about James Kirk. She knew some people who’d taken his class at the Academy, and he’d been known as a hard-ass. She knew some people who’d served with him, and whilst he was known to be highly competent, approachable friendliness wasn’t the second characteristic that was mentioned. Ambition and a ruthless work ethic came up a lot. 

Uhura shifted, rolled her neck. Well, she could work with that. She was a hard worker, and ambitious, so that was fine. She did find herself hoping that he was, well, likable though. Five years was a hell of long time to take orders from someone you didn’t like. But she was a professional. She could see it through. She needed to see it through. She’d given up a lot for this chance. She thought, briefly, of Lani, and sighed. Long distance relationships didn’t work. Not over that kind of distance. Not for five years.  

The transporter tech’s head popped up again. ‘Nearly got it.’ She gave him a slightly thinner version of her earlier smile. 

She gestured to the console, and asked again, ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to -?’   

‘Oh, no, honestly, got it now.’ His head disappeared again, and then, finally he stood. ‘Okay, we’re good to go.’ He hit the comm switch, ‘Enterprise, do you stand ready to receive.’ 

The voice of the Enterprise’s transporter tech on duty came back with a dry, ‘Only for the last ten minutes.’ 

He looked to Uhura and she nodded encouragingly at him. He said, ‘Have a safe journey, Lieutenant. Five years in deep space. I’m a bit - ‘ 

She never found what bit he was as the room dissolved before her eyes and finally, finally the Enterprise appeared.  

She gazed around the room with a thrill. A starship. Her home for five years. Even with her nerves, and the wait, and with everything she was leaving behind, she couldn’t help the wide grin that crept to her face. She breathed out slowly, with an almost inaudible, ‘Hello’. 

The tech behind the console, who was watching her with a smile, said gently, ‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’  

‘Oh she is,’ Uhura said, and stepped down from the pad, ‘I can’t wait to get to know her better.’ 

The tech stepped around in front of the console. ‘Well, I’d be happy to give you a tour when you’re settled in.’ Uhura, who had turned around to look at the pad she’d just stepped off, said absently, ‘Well, I’d certainly appreciate that, thank you. It is a little daunting, a ship this size. It’s my first alpha shift on the bridge tomorrow, so maybe afterwards?’ They were six pads on the console, and this wasn’t even the only transporter room. The ship was huge.  

The tech said, and his voice sounded amused, ‘Funnily enough, it’s my bridge shift tomorrow too. Not my first, obviously, I’ve had a few.’ 

She said quickly, ‘Oh good, then maybe you can tell me what the Captain’s like. I -‘ she swung round to face him and the words died in her throat. Out of the shadows behind the console, the tech in front of her clearly wasn’t wearing the red of engineering, but the gold of command. And there were – oh god – three stripes of rank on his sleeves.  

He said innocently, ‘What the Captain’s like?’ He scratched his face and gazed at the ceiling for a moment as if giving the matter serious thought. Uhura wanted the deck to swallow her. ‘Well, he seems alright to me. But then I admit I may be biased.’  

She swallowed hard, ‘Captain Kirk. Sir.’ She extended her hand, realized she was still holding her padd, and fumbled it to her other hand as she said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s a pleasure to - ‘ 

He waved his hand and smiled. ‘Stand down Lieutenant - I’m the one who should apologize – I didn’t intend to ambush you. I’ve been meeting all the new department heads, and Lieutenant Datan got called away, so I said I’d handle the beam in. Didn’t realize it was going to take quite so long, though.’ 

Uhura said with feeling, ‘Neither did I, sir. And the tech on console wouldn’t let me have a go at it, even though I’ve probably got more time in ops than he’s had  - ‘ she broke off, ‘Anyway, I'm – I'm sorry to have wasted your time, sir.’ 

Kirk smiled, ‘Don’t worry, Lieutenant, you’re here now, that’s the important thing.’ He added, ‘And keen to see the ship.’ 

‘Oh yes, sir,’ she smiled back. He looked gratified by her enthusiasm, and she felt her heart rate start to even out. Maybe this wasn’t a total disaster after all.  

He said, as he turned towards the door, ‘Do you have time, now, for the quick tour?’ He gave her a conspiratorial grin. ‘I’ve got half an hour before Commander Spock comes looking for me.’  

Uhura thought, with a rush of relief. Oh, he  is likeable. Thank goodness.  

She smiled back. ‘That would be - brilliant, sir, actually. Thank you. If you’re sure.’ 

He nodded to her bag, ‘We’ll swing by deck nine first, you can drop that, then – engineering, I think.’ He looked positively gleeful at the thought of showing off his ship, and she thought, unexpectedly,  For someone with such a fearsome reputation, he actually seems quite – sweet.   

He took a step towards the door and stopped again, turning to face her. He said ruefully, ‘God, I’ll never get a role as a diplomat. I had one job here.’ He cleared his throat, extended his hand, and said, ‘Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Lieutenant Uhura.’ 

Leonard McCoy stood in his quarters, surveying the mess. There wasn’t a lot of mess, as he hadn’t brought a lot with him. In fact, he reflected, it was pretty pathetic cconsidering that, apart from a few boxes in a spare room in a friend’s cabin in the wilds of rural Georgia, it was all he had in the world. But then travelling the galaxy at the behest of Starfleet tended to do that to a person’s life. Strip it down to the bare essentials. He picked up a Capellan ceremonial idol and added it carefully to one of his boxes. He’d had the idea, early on in his travels, that he would take a souvenir from every world he visited, and one day, sit down with his daughter and tell her about the galaxy, and all the places her daddy had seen. He supposed he’d hoped she’d be proud of him, understand why he was away so much.  

That seemed – less likely now. Adele had made it clear that his presence was unwelcome in both of their lives. And he’d respected her wishes. Not that he had a great deal of choice – endless off planet assignments had seen to that. And here he was, making it worse. Five years, and all he would see of Joanna would be the occasional message. He picked up her picture from the last box. Fifteen years old, smiling into the camera, she looked beautiful, brave and ready to take on the galaxy. Not remotely amenable to her father’s hopes that she stay safely on Earth. Just like her mother.  

She hadn’t been smiling the last time he’d seen her. On the viewscreen in his temporary quarters, telling her about the Enterprise. The five-year mission.  

‘So y’won’t be here for my sixteenth, then?’  

‘No, darlin’, I won’t. I’m so sorry.’  

God, her face had hurt. She hadn’t even looked surprised. As if being disappointed by her father was such a regular occurrence that it didn’t really merit a reaction. He’d said quickly, ‘I’ll talk to Jim though, see if I can’t get leave for your seventeenth. She’d brightened a little at that. ‘Tell Jim he can come too.’ It was a source of some bemusement to McCoy that despite only meeting him on a handful of occasions, and being - probably fairly - deemed by his ex ‘a bad influence’ - both Adele and Joanna still liked Jim Kirk.  

‘I’ll tell him, darlin’.’ Christ, he’d make the whole damn ship attend if she’d smile at him again.  

She’d added, and her eyes had started to look a bit moist, and his heart had seized –  please, darlin', don’t cry  - ‘I - I s’pose it’s good that you’ll be there. I mean, Jim needs someone to look out for him, doesn’t he? He’ll only get in trouble if you’re not there.’ 

And wasn’t that the truth. ‘Aye, darlin’ he certainly will. I mean, he’ll get in trouble anyway, but at least this way I can patch him up.’ She’d smiled at that, sniffed, and swallowed.  

‘Say hey for me.’ 

‘I will.’ In the background he heard Adele’s voice, calling Joanna’s name.  

She turned her head. ‘Uh, gotta go, dinner.’  

He said quickly, ‘Well, you be a good girl now, do your homework, do as your momma says.’  

She’d rolled her eyes at that. ‘Daaad. You don’t need to say that stuff, I’m not a kid.’ 

Yes you are, he thought. And you nearly died a few years ago, and the galaxy is big, and dangerous, and I’m too far away. He made himself smile, ‘I know, honey-pie. You run along now, don’t make your momma mad.’  

That had been over a month ago and he hadn’t been able to contact her since. Adele wasn’t obstructive, exactly, but she wasn’t helpful either. Maybe these five years would be good for them. Forced estrangement. Maybe they could interact like healthy, well-adjusted adults by the time he got back. And maybe pigs might fly. 

He began to put his meagre off duty clothes into the drawers provided. It was lucky he didn’t have much, because he’d struggle to get more than two outfits into this amount of space. Still, at least he had quarters to himself, unlike some ships he’d been on.   

He wondered how Adele was doing. Who she was with. Not that he really wanted to know. It wasn’t that he wished his ex ill – certainly not any more – he was happy for her to be happy. He just wanted her happiness to be a theoretical thing only as far as his knowledge of it was concerned. Taking place away from his immediate sight. He and Joanna never spoke of Adele, and she never asked about him.  

His mind drifted back to Jim as he unpacked, and the scene in the transporter room. He frowned to himself. How goddamn typical of Jim to have appointed a goddamn Vulcan as his first officer. Over 400 crew to choose from, and he went for the one McCoy least wanted to spend time with. He sighed, rubbed a hand across his face. It wasn’t Spock’s fault he’d had the superiority of Vulcans shoved down his throat for the last bitter, acrimonious year before his marriage finally imploded. Not Spock’s fault that the person Adele had always used to highlight McCoy’s failings as a husband – too emotional, too quick to anger, too obsessed with medicine, too goddam everything  -  had been her new Vulcan lecturer.  

Unfortunately, Commander Spock hadn’t seemed any less superior than most Vulcans McCoy had met. So that was going to be grating. Five more years of having the superiority of Vulcans pointed out at every opportunity. Well this time, McCoy wasn’t going to let it slide to keep the peace. He was going to give as good as he got.   

He sighed as he threw his now empty bag into the back of the closet. Aside from being an emotional thorn in his side, Spock was also going to be a lot of extra work. He eyed the padd on his nightstand. He’d already comprehensively reviewed Spock’s unique physiology twice, but he was going to have to do it again, that much was clear. Because now, he was first officer. Now, he’d be going on all the landing parties, and the chances of him being injured had just rocketed. Thanks, Jim.   

Not Spock’s fault. He had to remember that. And speak to Jim at the first opportunity about what the hell had possessed him to appoint a Vulcan in the first place.  

Well that shouldn’t be there. Uhura stared at the Jeffries tube entrance ladder at the end of the corridor she had just entered . Despite her expectant gaze, it stubbornly refused to transform itself into the bridge  turbolift, so she backtracked her steps and picked another, parallel, corridor. At her third attempt at corridor roulette, she spotted the bridge turbolift at the end of what she’d thought was entirely the wrong corridor the first time. As she hurried towards it, she reflected ruefully that a review of the Enterprise’s floor plans after her shift might be in order. She was still early though, just not now quite as early as she’d hoped to be. She wanted to give herself as long as possible to handover with her gamma shift colleague, who, whilst not as experienced, had served on the Enterprise longer and would know the foibles – and there were  always  foibles – of the communications station. 

As she reached the turbolift, another crewmen appeared at her side, apparently also headed for the bridge. She glanced across at the tall figure in science blues, then up at dark hair and indisputably Vulcan ears. She said in pleased surprised, ‘Commander Spock!’ 

Dark eyes turned to hers. Goodness, but he was intimidating. Quite handsome too, in a severe way. She added quickly, aware that she’d basically blurted his name with no context, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.’ 

He inclined his head gracefully. ‘Likewise, Lieutenant Uhura.’ 

She made a noise of irritation. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, sir, you quite took me by surprise.’ She held up her hand in a flawless ta’al and said, in perfect Vulcan, ‘Dif-tor heh smusma, Schn T’gai Spock t’Ah’rak.’ 

Spock stared at the petite human beside him in disbelief, almost missing the arrival of the turbolift. Almost a decade without hearing his native language, and now twice in almost as many months. And this time, in an accent so practiced it sounded almost native. As they stepped into the lift, he raised his hand in return. ‘Sochya eh dif, ot-lan Uhura t’Terra.’ 

She smiled up at him in delight, then continued, still in careful Vulcan, ‘You’ll have to forgive me, sir, I’m a little out of practice, and I’m sure my accent has slipped terribly. I was delighted to read you’d be on board; I hope it wouldn’t be too out of line for me to practice my Vulcan on you occasionally. I’d be awfully grateful.’ She dropped into standard in a linguistic turn so rapid Spock blinked, ignoring the pull at his heart that hearing her lovely voice speaking his language had produced. ‘Did that all make sense?’ 

He recovered himself quickly, ‘Your Vulcan is highly proficient, Lieutenant. May I ask where you learned?’  

‘One of my language lecturers at the academy was Vulcan, sir, they had an exchange programme with the Vulcan Academy.’ She sighed longingly. ‘I’ve always wanted to see Vulcan; it sounds so lovely.’  

Spock looked at her in curiosity. HIs home  was lovely, in his eyes at least. But he’d learned quickly that this was a minority opinion on Earth. He’d heard Vulcan variously described as a featureless desert, a blast furnace, and the sand capital of the Federation, all on more than one occasion.  

As the turbolift slowed and came to a stop, he said, ‘Given your Starfleet service, it is likely you will get the chance one day, Lieutenant.’  

As the doors opened, she said, ‘Oh, I do hope so, sir.’ She broke off, gazing around the bridge in wide-eyed appreciation as they stepped out of the turbolift.  

Spock watched her patiently. Humans are so easily distracted. He said sincerely, ‘It was a pleasure to speak to you, Lieutenant.’  

She returned her awestruck gaze to him, and smiled warmly. ‘Likewise, sir.’ As he took his station, she greeted the Ensign currently at her post. She would definitely spend more time talking to Commander Spock. Find out more about Vulcan. She couldn’t resist a thrill of happiness as she took her post. This was a good day already.  

From his position next to the engineering station, Kirk saw Spock and Uhura arrive on the bridge, and heard the end of their conversation. He was starting to learn the difference between Spock’s usual tone of neutral politeness, and genuine pleasure at a conversation. It’d taken him over a week of concerted effort to get that tone from Spock. Uhura had apparently managed it in less than twenty-four hours of acquaintance.  

She was certainly pleasant company. And she’d been touchingly delighted with the Enterprise during their tour yesterday. Anyone who held a positive opinion of Kirk’s ship was good people, as far as he was concerned. His eyes shifted to Spock. They’d spent almost all of their time together in the last few days since Spock’s promotion. Until last night, when he’d gone to McCoy’s quarters and persuaded him to ‘fess up about his inevitable stash of saurian brandy. He hoped Spock hadn’t taken that as any kind of slight, then mentally scoffed at himself for the thought. Spock was far too sensible for that.  

Kirk was sitting at his desk, going through non-urgent external messages from the past week. Across from him, Spock was working through the next month of duty rosters. Kirk sighed, muttered to himself, then made a noise of affectionate frustration. He looked up from the message to find Spock regarding him with curiosity.  

He smiled. ‘Sorry. Message from my mother. Am I looking after myself? Eating well. Staying warm. When am I getting leave? When am I going to bring someone home for her to meet? Why don’t I message her more often?’ He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘I’m in deep space. She knows this. She went through it all with my Dad.’ He sighed. ‘But I guess that’s why. She worries. I should – yeah, I should get in touch more. Book a time with comms to speak to her.’ He looked over at Spock and made himself smile. ‘I bet you don’t have this problem. I bet Vulcan mothers nag in a very logical way.’  

Spock’s face assumed an odd expression that Kirk didn’t recognise, but he felt. Sudden neutralisation of unexpected pain. Kirk was all at once acutely aware that he didn’t actually know anything about Spock’s parents. Their identities didn’t appear on his service record, and the only place Kirk had looked beyond his service record was his scientific record.  He’d never spoken of them. Maybe there was a reason he’d left Vulcan for Earth at such a relatively young age. Christ, maybe they were dead and he’d just blundered into same hideous personal tragedy entirely unannounced. He said, concerned, ‘Sorry, Spock, I – I didn’t mean to pry.’ 

Spock’s expression had smoothed out again. He appeared to be deep in thought. After a moment, he said slowly, ‘My mother - expresses similar concerns in her missives. She – enquires frequently whether I am happy, in spite of her years on Vulcan and her long exposure to our cultural norms. It is – highly illogical.’  

Kirk cocked his head interestedly. ‘Your mother wasn’t born on Vulcan?’  

‘No, she was born in San Francisco.’  

Kirk looked surprised. ‘Were her parents stationed there? Part of the diplomatic corp?’ 

Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘No, her mother was a high school teacher and her father a university lecturer.’  

Kirk stared. ‘On Earth?’  

‘Yes.’ Spock noticeably swallowed. ‘Jim, you - appear to be labouring under a misapprehension. My mother is not Vulcan. She is human.’  

Kirk stared at him for a long moment. Then he said, ‘Sorry Spock, run that by me again.’ 

‘My mother is human. She met my father on Earth and returned with him to Vulcan to live. However, she remains, in her attitudes and emotionality, very human in nature.’  

Kirk was still staring at him. He said quietly, ‘So - you’re half human?’  

‘Yes.’  

‘I didn’t know that.’  

Spock felt a shiver of unease run down his spine. ‘There is no reason you should have, Captain.’ 

Kirk seemed to stir. ‘No, no there isn’t. Quite right, Mister Spock.’ But his voice lacked something of it’s usual enthusiasm. 

Later, after Spock’s departure, Kirk stared unseeing at the padd in front of him. Spock was half human. And he hadn’t known. Why hadn’t he known? And why did it bother him that he hadn’t known? Who else knew? An obvious suspect occurred to him and he debated with himself briefly before exiting his quarters.  

He walked uninvited into McCoy’s office, waited for the door to shut behind him to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard, then said, ‘Spock’s half-human.’ 

McCoy looked up from his padd. ‘Hi Jim, come in, make yourself at home.’  

‘Spock. Is half human.’ 

‘Told you, did he.’ 

‘You knew.’ 

‘No, I generally like to wait until my crewmen with exotic alien physiologies are injured before familiarising myself with their internal layout. Keeps it interesting for me.’ He leaned across his desk with a false look of wide-eyed enthusiasm. ‘I do love surprises.’  

Kirk cut him a glare. ‘Ha, ha, Doctor.’ 

‘Of course I knew, I’m just surprised you didn't. You two seem to be thick as thieves.’ 

Kirk had sunk into a chair with a frown. ‘It’s just – it's never come up. I like him to tell me stuff – I don’t want to pry.  

McCoy said sceptically, ‘Since when?’  

‘He’s pretty private, Bones. As his Captain - and his friend - I need to respect that. But it explains a lot, don’t you think?’ 

‘Such as what? His soft, sentimental side? I’d’ve thought he keeps it very well bloody hidden, actually.’ 

Kirk said thoughtfully, ‘Exactly.’ 

‘Exactly, what?’ 

‘He keeps it hidden. Never mentions it. Doesn’t talk about his parents. I mean, he said once that he had human ancestry, but I thought he meant a few generations back, not his mom.’ 

McCoy stared at him. ‘Did you even listen in xenobiology class? Or did you spend all your time in the command and engineering rotations?’ Kirk shifted and McCoy sighed. ‘Don’t answer that.’  

He continued, ‘Well, if you’d listened - or even attended, you’d know that prior to a few decades ago, there were no half Vulcan, half human children, and not just because there were no Vulcan / Human marriages. Because the science hadn’t caught up and it wasn’t actually possible.’  

Kirk said, uncomfortably, ‘You mean, it doesn’t - just happen – when -?’  

‘Give me strength. Between two entirely different species? No, Jim, it doesn’t. Mother Nature needed a bit of a helping hand.’ 

Kirk frowned. ‘But there are other half Vulcan, half humans out there, surely?’ 

‘I assume so, it’s not exactly my area of expertise, but science has spoken, so it’s absolutely possible now. But certainly for a few decades there, your pointy eared friend was a walking genetic miracle all on his own.’ 

Kirk raised his eyebrows. ‘Wow.’  

‘Yep.’ McCoy shook his head. ‘Let’s all raise a glass to Mrs Spock’s Mom, whoever she may be, for defying common sense, Mother Nature, and Vulcan biology to produce your first officer.’ 

Kirk frowned. ‘I can’t believe he’s never even mentioned it.’ 

McCoy stared. ‘Why would he mention it? I mean, other than to medical professionals whose life he’s about to make significantly more complicated – thanks again for making him first officer so he goes on all the landing parties, by the way - who would be interested?’ 

Kirk stared at him. ‘Everyone, Bones. Everyone he works with. Do you think he got through the Academy without some of that anti-alien crap being thrown in his face? Christ, he still gets that here. Not in my damn hearing, but I bet he does. He could have made it easier on himself, you know, ‘Hey, I’m one of you, you racist - .’’ 

‘Think you just answered your own question there, Jim. Not a team you’d want to be on. And besides, to a certain mindset, that just makes it worse. ‘Oh, you’re half human, but you choose to live as a Vulcan, what, we not good enough for you?’ He can’t win.’  

‘Yes, but we’re not all like that, he could have said  - ‘  

McCoy looked at him and narrowed his eyes. ‘It’s not everyone, is it?  It's you. You're put out because you didn’t know.’ 

‘I’m not put out.’ 

McCoy drawled, ‘Yeah, y’are.’   

Kirk said, a little defensively, ‘Well, I am his Captain. I mean, it might have been important.’ He frowned. ‘I bet Pike knew.’ 

McCoy rolled his eyes. ‘Jim Kirk, you class A fraud. It’s nothing to do with being his Captain. You’re put out because your special Vulcan friend had a secret and took ‘til now to tell you.’  

Kirk frowned. ‘Well that makes me sound – a bit petty.’ 

McCoy laughed. ‘It makes you sound like the one hundred percent human you are.’ 

A smile reluctantly tugged at Kirk’s mouth. ‘Yeah. I suppose I am being a bit – but we’ve got - friendly, you know. It’s been six months. I thought we’d done all the basic ‘oh actually my mom was from another planet’ stuff.’  

McCoy said patiently. ‘Your parents are from Iowa. It's not the same. You know, you could just ask him.’ 

‘In a way that doesn’t make me sound petty?’ 

‘Nope, you’ll have to sound petty.’ 

‘I’ll leave it, it doesn’t matter.’ 

McCoy groaned. ‘Get out of my sickbay.’  

Spock was experiencing a measure of concern. Doctor McCoy had requested his presence. This was not a summons that habitually boded well for someone of his mixed physiology. Despite his full medical records being available to any physician with whom he had served, he was invariably subject to extra physicals, scans, and tests, particularly by those who were new to his care. It had lessened in recent years, as Doctor Piper had grown used to him, and Spock had enjoyed the relative freedom of being no more medically interesting than his human colleagues.  

But now the Enterprise had a new CMO. And an almost entirely new medical staff. He wondered, aware of his own level of tired cynicism on this subject, if Leonard McCoy, the new, rude, scruffy human doctor, was overdue for a notable paper in one of the medical journals, and hoping to use Starfleet’s only Vulcan/Human hybrid as a subject. It wouldn’t be the first time. Undoubtedly, he was, as his human colleagues liked to say, in terms of medical interest, back to square one.  

So it was with some trepidation that he arrived at McCoy's office and took a seat opposite the Enterprise's CMO as instructed. 

Doctor McCoy - clean shaven now, and in a pristine medical services uniform, Spock noted with approval - said, ‘Thank you for coming, Commander, I’ll get right to it. I’ve studied your medical history and I’m somewhat confused.’ 

Spock raised an eyebrow.  

The doctor continued, ‘For no reason I can discern, you have been having full body and brain scans every two months since you were,’ he checked his padd, ‘seventeen. The results of which are sent to the Vulcan Medical Institute.’ He paused.

Spock waited.  

‘So I guess my question is, do we still need to be doing that? Because the results have not significantly altered since you were twenty five. And I’m not really minded to run time-consuming and invasive scans and tests every couple of months just to satisfy what frankly must be idle curiosity on the part of the VMI at this point.’ 

Spock said stiffly, ‘The tests were part of the – agreement - allowing me to leave Vulcan. As I am sure you are aware, my physiology is unique, and presented the physicians of my youth with a unique set of challenges. Weekly scans allowed them to keep on top of any issues as they arose.’ 

McCoy said, ‘Weekly?!’  

‘As I grew older and my physiology became more firmly established the scans reduced to monthly. Until I left Vulcan for Earth, when it was agreed that bi-monthly would be sufficient.’ 

McCoy said, ‘Sufficient for what?’ 

‘To allow for continual monitoring.’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘There was a concern that my physiology might become – unstable. Or fall victim to an as yet unpredicted problem.’ 

McCoy said slowly, ‘Right. But I’ve reviewed every one of those scans and to my eye there’s never been a significant risk of that.’ 

‘The risk was deemed statistically likely.’ 

‘Okay, but even given that, you wouldn’t need to be a CMO to notice that your scans have been completely stable for more than eight years. And even before that, their instability for two decades prior was nothing that I’d consider out of ordinary for a young person not finished growing.’ 

He rubbed a hand across his face. ‘What I’m saying here, Spock, is that as your Doctor, I would be more than happy to write to the VMI on your behalf and tell them to wind their necks in.’ 

Spock stared at him for a long moment.  

McCoy indicated the padd in his hands and said, ‘Commander, it doesn’t matter what criteria I use, human or Vulcan, you are in excellent physical and mental health. By Vulcan standards you’re excellent and by human standards you’re off the charts. As your Doctor, I can’t see any reason why you can’t just have regular Starfleet physicals like everyone else. Tailored to you, obviously, but no more than that.’ 

For a moment, Spock couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. This odd, human doctor was essentially proposing that he be reduced to the level of medical interest of every other crew member. Permanently.  

Around a strange constriction in his throat, he said, slowly, ‘And you – would be happy with this approach?’ 

McCoy snorted. ‘As opposed to having to spend a day every other month wasting both of our times? I’d say so, yes.’ 

Spock licked his dry lips. He said, ‘And you are confident that you will be able to identify any problems arising under this new arrangement?’ 

McCoy said, with an understanding that Spock would not have credited him with, ‘You mean, can I be trusted to look out for you without the great and wonderful Vulcan Medical Institute looking over my shoulder?’ 

He laid the padd face down on his desk and interlaced his hands over the top. He said quickly, with the air of man reciting details long committed to memory, ‘Although your heart rate can go well below one hundred beats per minute in a healing trance or deep sleep, your average resting heart rate is over 200 beats per minute, topping out at over 300 bpm under exertion. Your blood pressure is generally in the hypoxic range by human standards, 90/60 being a good average for you. Anything over 200 in the systolic range would be highly dangerous, even for your robust system.    

‘Your respiratory rate is comparable to human norms, however your lungs are 40% more efficient at extracting oxygen from the air, due to their greater internal surface area, presumably evolution's way of coping with the thinner air on Vulcan. Your internal organs are laid out exactly in line with Vulcan anatomy, with the exception of your liver and heart, which are precisely one and three centimetres respectively higher than would be considered within Vulcan norms.  

‘Your skeletal structure also follows Vulcan physiology precisely, including increased density. The same is true of your musculature, rendering your strength and stamina well outside of the upper range of human exceptionality, and slightly outside of Vulcan norms. And don’t think that I won’t be accounting for that in your physical either, because you’d better believe I will. 

‘Your metabolism - ‘ 

‘Doctor.’ 

‘Yes, Commander?’ 

‘Your point is made.’ 

‘Good. But you need to remember that trust is a two-way street, Spock. If I’m not giving you more attention than anyone else, then you have the same obligation as anyone else: the second you think anything is out of whack, you get down here. Don’t play the hero. And don’t look to your Captain for an example there either. He's the worst patient I’ve ever had the misfortune to treat.’  

‘Noted, Doctor.’  

McCoy said casually, ‘Speaking of Jim, I’m glad you saw fit to mention your unique physiology to him. He likes to be cool about letting people tell him stuff, but he really hates surprises.’ He shot Spock a grimace. ‘Chalk it up to the natural control freakery of starship captains.’  

 Spock said, somewhat defensively, ‘There was no attempt at concealment on my part.’ 

‘Oh I’m sure, but you guys have been in each other’s pockets for six months and it never came up? You can see how it might look that way to Jim. Anyway, doesn’t matter now. Scram out of my sickbay, if I'm lucky I might get some actual patients without you darkening my doorway.’ 

Spock walked back from sickbay deep in thought. He had not attempted to conceal his nature from his Captain, but neither had he deliberately mentioned it at any point. And Kirk’s response had been – somewhat subdued. It was entirely possible that the Captain was experiencing some level of illogical negative emotional reaction to the timing of Spock’s revelation. The thought should not have bothered him at all – he was not responsible for the illogic of humans – and yet, it did.  

He diverted his route back to his quarters and pressed the chime outside the Captain’s door.  

‘Spock, what can I do for you?’  

He stood somewhat awkwardly on the opposite side of Kirk’s desk. The Captain had not yet invited him to sit, so he did not.  

‘Captain, it has - occurred to me that, by human standards, I have been less than forthcoming with you with regard to my personal circumstances, specifically my half Vulcan, half human nature.’ 

Kirk looked at him in surprise. Then frowned. ‘Did Bones speak to you?‘ He sighed. ‘Spock, when, if at all, you chose to tell me, or anyone else, about your genetic make-up is entirely up to you. He shouldn’t have said anything.’ 

‘The Doctor mentioned our conversation, but he did not imply I acted improperly, nor do I believe that I did.’ He paused, and added, ‘However, I would like to - ‘ 

Kirk waved a hand. ‘Spock, It’s really not - ‘ 

‘Captain, I did not deliberately conceal my nature from you, but nor did I volunteer the information. Doing so in the past has frequently evoked a negative reaction from both humans and my own people and I have become accustomed to - avoiding the subject. I apologise if my doing so in the case led you to believe that I did not deem you worthy of trust in this matter. Such is not the case.'

Kirk stared at him for a moment, then said, 'Spock, sit down. Are you saying you didn't mention it because you thought I might - react badly?'

'Knowing you as I do now, no. However, history has demonstrated that a certain level of caution is preferable when dealing with strangers. I - did not wish you to think less of me before we had become more closely acquainted.'

'Why on earth would I -? Spock, who the hell has made you think you need to be ashamed of who you are?'

His first officer looked profoundly uncomfortable as he said, 'It has been represented to me on a number of occasions that I am too Vulcan to be generally acceptable to humans, and too human to be considered - fully Vulcan.'

Kirk's expression shuttered in a way that Spock recognised as his Captain trying to repress strong emotion. Kirk stood, came around the desk, and leaned against the side of it, near to Spock. After a moment, he said, with quiet intensity, 'Spock, you should be shouting your heritage from the rooftops. Announcing it on the bridge. You are the living embodiment of the best of both species and anyone who can't see that after five minutes in your company isn't worth your time.' 

Spock did not trust himself to respond to that statement.

Into the silence that followed, Kirk said, ‘Listen, I’ve got a meeting with Commander Darren now, but can I interest you in a game of chess later? Around twenty-one hundred hours?’ 

Spock opened his mouth to agree, then remembered. He said dully, ‘Captain, I will not be free at that time. I have – a personal call to make.’ 

Kirk said, ‘Oh. Okay. Another time then.’ 

Spock was staring at the monitor in his quarters as the call connected. For a time, he had made these calls monthly. Then bi-monthly. They were now six months apart, and even that felt too much. But he could not shirk his duty in this. He had not stayed at her request, so he owed it to her to keep in touch. Be available. As far as his Starfleet duties allowed. And as he had last contacted her just before their start of their mission, he was now overdue.  

As the call went through, almost unconsciously, he straightened in his chair and ran a hand across his hair. All was as it should be. He tugged on his uniform tunic to straighten it. It would not matter. His appearance, it seemed, was never pleasing, and apparently he could do nothing to correct that fact.  

Her face appeared on his screen. ‘Live long and prosper, Spock.’ She never addressed him in Vulcan, always standard. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder why.  

Aloud he said, ‘Peace and long life, T’Pring.’ 

She regarded him coolly. He had long grown immune to her truly exceptional beauty, and had not, until this moment, realised why. Oddly enough, it was the man with whom he had recently finished speaking, who provided the contrast that elucidated the reason. Her beauty contained no warmth. James Kirk could not be described as beautiful, and yet, as Gary Mitchell had once said, people were drawn to him through his natural charm, charisma, and warmth. These were not qualities his betrothed possessed. He set the thought aside as disloyal and unhelpful.  

He said carefully, ‘I have been following the progress of your work at the Vulcan Science Academy. It appears to have met with great success.’  

She said flatly, ‘Yes. My research is highly beneficial to our field of study, and uniformly praised.’ 

‘I had no doubt it would be. Your last paper was an excellent and erudite summary of most complex and important work.’ 

She lowered her head in acknowledgement, then said, reluctantly, ‘Your comments were of - some minor assistance.’ 

‘I am gratified to have been of some help.’ 

Into the silence that followed this remark, she said, perfunctorily, ‘I trust all is well on the – starship?’  

Spock experienced a brief flash of mild irritation. He had served aboard the Enterprise for almost his entire Starfleet career, and she had never spoken its name without prompting. He knew her to be almost exceptionally intelligent with excellent recall, so her refusal to name his ship was – illogical.  

He said, ‘All is well, my betrothed. In fact, - I have been promoted. I now hold the rank of Commander, and am First Officer of the Enterprise.’  

She said archly, ‘It is long past time for such an eventuality. It is a ship of humans, after all. Even as a half Vulcan, you would still be their intellectual superior.’  

Spock closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, and said, ‘It is not always intellectual prowess that determines suitability for command positions on a starship.’ He thought of Kirk, and added, ‘My new Captain, for example, possesses both -’ 

T’Pring said abruptly, ‘Spock. There is something I wish to say.’  

He stopped, ‘Of course. Please proceed.’  

She looked him in the eye as she said, ‘You are thirty-three years of age. It is unusual for a Vulcan male to have reached such an age without experiencing the blood fever.’ 

Spock stared at her in shock. They had never before discussed - Spock felt his heart rate begin to climb, and tried to reset his physiological controls as he said, ‘It is not - unheard of - ‘ 

She swept on, ‘No, but it is rare, and the most likely conclusion is that your human half is negatively effecting the onset of pon farr. It is possible that you may not experience it at all.’ 

Spock’s breath caught in his throat. He said, thickly, ‘I - am Vulcan, I -’ 

‘You are half  Vulcan, and we have waited a long time. As such, I would like to request your immediate return, so that our bond can be completed and our marriage consummated.’ 

Spock stared at her in disbelief. His attempt to regulate his heartbeat had failed. The entire room seemed to have narrowed to her face on the small screen. He said, unsteadily, ‘Such a thing is not – we have agreed to observe the ancient ways of our people  - ‘ 

T’Pring said coolly, ‘Certainly it would be a weak bond, but such things are not unheard of. It can be done. In the - absence - of the blood fever.’  

In the silence, somewhere deep inside, Spock could hear the voices of his schoolmates. Freak. Half-breed. Human. Not Vulcan. Not real. The recollection lay below his conscious awareness, but coiled in his gut like poison.  

Aloud he said levelly, ‘It would be impossible at this time. I have just commenced a new five year mission under Captain Kirk. I cannot leave the ship until such time as leave is granted. And even then, we may be too far from Vulcan for me to return in the time allowed.’  

T’Pring merely nodded, as if this was the answer she had expected. She said, ‘In which case, I would request that if your pon farr has not occurred in the next three years, and you are not prepared to return in that time, then our bond be dissolved.’ 

After a long moment, Spock said unsteadily, ‘Such a thing would be virtually unprecedented.’ 

She said, with a flash of irritation, ‘Our situation is unprecedented. You cannot expect me to wait forever. It is – unVulcan.’  

Out of nowhere, he could hear his father’s voice.  Such stubborness is unVulcan. This behaviour is not Vulcan. Not Vulcan. Not Vulcan.   

He said faintly, ‘Perhaps - you are correct. I have been – unreasonable. If I have not undergone the blood fever in three years, and not returned to Vulcan, I will - take any steps necessary to accede to your request.’  

T’Pring looked mollified. ‘Thank you, my betrothed.’  

When he did not reply, after a moment she added, with an air of detached curiosity, ‘What will you do if the blood fever comes when the starship is too far from Vulcan?’  

Spock said, through a mouth gone dry, ‘The Captain will - divert the ship at my request.’ 

She arched an elegant eyebrow. ‘You have told him of our sacred rites?’  

‘No. However, he – will understand. He will assist me.’ 

T’Pring looked sceptical. ‘I hope your faith in him proves justified, Spock. After all, he will hold your life in his hands.’  

Spock said, clinging to his faith in a man he had known six months, ‘He will prove himself trustworthy.’ 

T’Pring had looked away from the screen, and an odd, almost smile had briefly appeared. When she looked back however, it was gone. She said, ‘I must terminate our communication. Live long and prosper, Spock.’ 

‘Peace and long life, T - ‘ Her image disappeared.  

Spock sat for a long moment, then reached across to deactivate the viewer. The hand that moved was not entirely steady. A part of him hoped that she was correct. That his human half would spare him the blood fever, the humiliating loss of control, of automony. But if it never came, surely the assertion that he was not truly Vulcan would be proven beyond all doubt.  

He was struggling to control the memories, the feelings that were churning below his conscious mind. Fear. Guilt. Failure. Rejection. Not adequate. Not enough. He needed to breathe. He needed to meditate, he needed -  

‘Captain Kirk to Commander Spock.’ 

The voice cut through like a lifeline. He fumbled for the comm switch, hitting it at the second attempt. ‘Spock here, Captain.’ 

‘Sorry to bother you, Spock, I know you said you were busy – can you talk now?’ 

‘Yes. Yes, I am free to talk. My call is completed.’ He experienced a moment of relief that Jim was not in the room. His voice was steady, but he doubted his countenance was so neutral. 

‘Great. It wasn’t important, but I’ve been meaning to ask – how is the temperature experiment going?’ 

‘Captain?’ 

‘I suggested a while back,’ Spock could hear the interest in Kirk’s voice, ‘- that you might want to up the temperature in your quarters, see if it improves your sleep, or anything? How’s that going?’ 

Oh. He thought back on the observations he had made. ‘It has been – surprisingly efficacious. Although my length of sleep is regulated by my internal chronometer and remains consistent, I believe I have qualitative evidence that the quality of it has improved over the last few months.’ 

‘Brilliant.’ He knew, without seeing him, that Kirk was smiling. His eyes fell again on the viewscreen. ‘Well, Mister Spock, I hereby authorise your minor personal drain on ship’s resources for the rest of our voyage. In the interests of keeping my first officer at maximum efficiency at all times, of course.’ 

‘Thank - thank you, Captain.’ His voice had wavered slightly. He heard it happen, and cursed his own lack of control. But perhaps Kirk hadn’t - 

‘Spock, you okay?’ 

‘Yes, Captain.’ That was better. 

‘Right.’ There was a moment of silence, then Kirk said, ‘Well, I’ll leave you to your evening then.’ 

Spock said quickly, 'Jim - ‘ 

‘Still here, Spock.’  

Would you like to play chess now? May I speak to you of a personal matter?  ‘I will – see you on the bridge tomorrow.’ 

There was a pause before Kirk said, ‘You will.’ Then: ‘Goodnight, Spock.’ 

‘Goodnight, Captain.’  

1402.7 / 5th November, 2265

As they entered the turbolift, and the doors closed, Kirk made a noise of frustration and thumped his fist against the wall. ‘I do not believe that man.  Wiving. Wiving. You can’t - order a wife. It’s the twenty-third century, for God’s sake. Who arranges marriages these days?’ 

Spock shifted uncomfortably. Oblivious, Kirk continued, ‘And then he has the goddamn nerve to tell me  - ‘ He broke off, and inhaled. ‘Dilithium. We just need the dilithium. That’s all. Then we can leave Mr Mudd to the authorities.’ He caught Spock’s eye. ‘Or, you know, drop kick him into the nearest nebula. I’ll see how I'm feeling at the time.’ 

Spock said neutrally, ‘There are no appropriate nebulae within a reasonable distance.’ 

‘Damn.’ 

After a moment, Spock said, ‘There is however, a likely binary star.’ He caught Kirk’s eye, and the Captain gave a sudden bark of laughter.  

Kirk leaned against the wall, took another deep breath. After a moment he said, ‘They don’t affect you at all, do they? The women?’ 

Spock said carefully, ‘I am aware of their influence; however a simple resetting of my physiological controls can neutralise their effect.’ 

Kirk huffed. ‘Well, whatever it is, Mister Spock, keep doing it. We need cool heads on this one.’ 

‘You appear largely unaffected, Captain.’ 

Kirk rolled his eyes. ‘The key word there, Mister Spock, is appear.’ He frowned. ‘But my lady needs dilithium, and dilithium she shall have, if I have to mine it from Rigel twelve with my bare hands.’  

1511.5 / 20th  November, 2265  

Harry Mudd was long gone, hopefully never to be seen again. Starship life had settled into a routine. Her Captain, however, was not satisfied. Across his desk, he said irritably to Spock, ‘it’s not good enough. I want all those simulations run again.’ 

Spock said, ‘There has been an improvement in the last three attempts.’ 

Kirk frowned at him. ‘Not good enough, Mister Spock. Not nearly good enough. You’re all about efficiency, let’s see you pass it on to the goddamn phaser crews. Not to mention engineering. There’s no point flying to the edge of known space if we’re going to be sitting ducks when we get there.’  

‘The crew are establishing their working relationships. Testing the parameters of their new roles.’ 

Kirk threw his stylus down in frustration. ‘Well, they’re taking too bloody long about it. Yes, we had a new intake last week, but the rest of them are old hands. They need to up their game.’ 

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘There are eyes on us. First five-year mission. First deep space voyage. If we screw this up, it’s not just for us, it’s for everyone who should come after us. This is it. This is what Starfleet should be doing. What it’s about. Not patrolling the neutral zones. Not policing the goddamn galaxy. This. The frontier. The great unknown. Exploration.’ 

He took a breath, then continued, ‘But if we fail, the pen pushers at command will pull the plug. That’ll be it. No more extended voyages. No deep space exploration. No risk. And I'll be the Captain that killed it.’ 

Spock said, ‘I do not believe such will be your fate.’ 

Kirk looked at him in surprise. ‘Fate, Mister Spock? That’s an awfully human concept.’ 

Before he could respond, the comm gave a whistle and announced, ‘Doctor McCoy to Captain Kirk.’ 

Kirk visibly winced. As he made no move to answer the hail, Spock raised an eyebrow at him. Kirk busied himself with the padd in front of him. After another moment the chime sounded again. ‘Doctor McCoy to Commander Spock.’ 

Kirk said quickly, ‘Tell him we’re really busy, and I can’t be disturbed. Or I’ve died.’ 

Spock flicked the comm switch on Kirk’s desk. ‘Yes, Doctor McCoy?’ 

‘Spock, have you seen Jim? He's late for his physical.’  

Kirk looked hopefully at him.  

Spock said, ‘He is here, Doctor. I shall send him directly.’ And ended the call.  

Kirk was staring at him in disapproval. ‘Et tu, Spock?’ 

‘Doctor McCoy was most clear on the need for regular physicals to maintain good health amongst the crew.’ Spock said mildly. ‘As Captain, your health is paramount, and I am certain you will want to set a good example on this front.’ 

Kirk dragged himself upright with an exaggerated sigh. ‘Okay, fine. You get to the bridge; I’ll go and be ritually tortured by that sadist in the medical bay. But don’t think I’ll forget this, Mister Spock. Don’t be looking to me for sympathy when it's your turn.’ 

Spock said quite seriously, ‘I shall not, Captain.’  

Kirk held his frown for another few seconds, then laughed. Rounding the desk and passing his first officer on the way to the door, he patted Spock’s back on the way past. As he got to the door, he said, ‘Keep an eye on Bailey for me. It’s his first bridge shift, he’s gonna be nervous, but I think he’s up to it.’ 

As the door closed behind his Captain, Spock sat for a moment in frozen surprise. He had not been expecting Kirk to touch him, and his shields had not been firmly in place. Kirk’s hand had touched his upper back, lightly ruffling his hair, and brushed his neck. The contact had been enough for him to feel Jim’s surface emotions, and the most obvious one in that moment had been - he struggled for a word - fondness. For Spock. Directed at Spock. It was unsettling and yet somehow – pleasing. He sat for a moment, staring at the chair that Jim had vacated. He had a friend. One who held him in genuinely high esteem. One who felt strong affection for him. It was - unexpected.  

He took a settling breath. He could not be held responsible for the emotions of a human. As a Vulcan, he could not return such affection. And yet.

And yet.  

He took another breath, and rose. This was a pointless line of speculation.  

He left the Captain’s quarters, and headed for the bridge.  

 

Notes:

I'm on twitter now! Come say hi @Opheliaj12 xx

Chapter 4: The Price of the Stars

Summary:

Scenes set during and after the Corbomite Maneuver.

Scenes set before and after Charlie X.

Scene set after The Man Trap.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Stardate: 1513.1  / 22nd November, 2265

The tension on the bridge was almost unbearable. Even Kirk sweated under it, using all of his considerable self-discipline to prevent the frustration and anger from showing on his face. If this was to be their end, it was unworthy and unjust, but he was about to die on the bridge of his ship. There were worse fates. He would have given every day of every year that would have remained to him to save his crew, but fate was not giving him that choice.  

Sulu’s voice said grimly, ‘Twenty seconds.’ The turbolift doors opened. Kirk glanced around. Bailey said stiffly, ‘Request permission to retake my post.’ Kirk eyed him evenly, took a moment, then said, ‘Permission granted, Mr Bailey.’  He couldn’t resist the brief flash of Captainly pride as Bailey resumed his seat. I knew I was right about him.   

Sulu said, ‘Ten.’ 

Kirk gripped the sides of the command chair, raised his chin in defiance to the vewscreen’s starfield.  

‘Nine.’ 

Behind him, Scotty had moved to stand next to Uhura. He touched a light hand to her shoulder, and she seized it in one of hers. 

‘Eight.’ 

Next to the command chair McCoy reached an unsteady hand to the backrest and seized it, planting his feet firmly on the deck. Kirk thought,  Steady as she goes, Doctor.   

‘Seven.’ 

He sensed movement to his right. Spock had stepped away from the science station, and come to stand next to his Captain.  

‘Six.’ 

Spock’s left hand drifted to the arm of the Captains’ chair, where Kirk’s right arm already rested. In his current state of hyper awareness, Kirk could feel the edge of Spock's fingers against the material of his tunic.  

‘Five.’ 

He moved his arm almost infinitesimally, so it rested full against the side of Spock’s hand where it lay on the side of his chair. He could feel the warmth of it through his body. 

‘Four.’ 

So small was the movement, Kirk didn’t feel it, but out of the corner of his eye, still fixed on the viewscreen, he saw Spock’s fingers shift slightly so that the very edge of the sleeve of Jim’s tunic was resting between them.  

‘Three.’ 

The silence on the bridge was absolute. 

‘Two.’  

 

‘One.’ 

A second passed. And then another. Kirk’s lungs reminded him that breathing was still a necessity and he inhaled sharply.  

Beside him, Spock said, in a voice as calm as if he was announcing the weather, ‘An interesting game, this poker.’ His hand was back by his side.  

Kirk said evenly, ‘It does have advantages over chess.’  

That night, Kirk sank onto the edge of the bed in his quarters and lowered his head in his hands. After their farewell to Balok and Bailey, and a ferocious work out, the adrenaline was finally beginning to work its way out of his system. He felt exhausted, but sleep was clearly still a long way off.  

The door chime sounded. He raised his head, called tiredly, ‘Come in.’ He hoped this wasn’t going to take long, whatever it was.  

To his intense relief, the doors slid apart to reveal the regal form of his first officer. For a moment, he contemplated standing and moving, looking less exhausted and more, well, Captain-like, but something in Spock’s demeanour stopped him.  

He felt himself smile slightly as he said, ‘Good evening, Mister Spock.’ And then wondered when Spock had stopped being someone he needed to put a front up for at all times.  

Now, it seemed.  

For his part, Spock glanced around and located his commanding officer, evincing no reaction whatsoever to seeing him slightly slumped at the end of the bed. ‘Good evening, Captain.’ 

He moved past the lattice divide near Kirk’s desk and stood a little awkwardly. Kirk said, gesturing to the desk, ‘Take a seat.’  

Spock did as instructed, pulling out the chair, turning it to face Kirk, and sitting down.  

‘What can I do for you, Mister Spock?’ 

Spock said carefully, ‘Given the events of the day, I have concluded that it would be advantageous to my future career development to – learn to play poker.’ 

Kirk stared at his first officer’s serious face for a long moment, then couldn’t suppress a huff of laughter. ‘And I'd be delighted to teach you. Not right now though – I don’t even have a deck of cards. Pretty sure Doctor McCoy does – I’ll ask him if I can borrow it.’ 

Spock inclined his head gracefully. ‘Thank you, Captain.’ 

Kirk said lightly, ‘I wouldn’t have thought Vulcans would embrace poker. All that – bluffing. Lying, effectively. Not very logical. I don’t think you’d catch a Vulcan commander pulling a stunt like that today.’ 

Spock said with certainty, ‘You would not.’ 

Kirk felt his sudden good mood begin to slip a little. Until Spock added, ‘And had the threat been real, a Vulcan Commander in that scenario would have seen his ship destroyed. Your actions were illogical and unorthodox but impressive and highly efficacious.’ 

Kirk couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face, and lowered his head, rubbing at the tension in nape of his neck, in an attempt to disguise it. Reaching the rank of Captain meant, almost overnight, that praise was a rarity. His superiors were sufficiently distant that feedback was generally brief, and – more often than not, however effective his actions - focused on what he could have done better. As if he didn’t already know. And praise from Spock was probably more pleasing than it should have been.  

He said, slightly embarrassed, ‘Well, thank you, Mister Spock. Luckily, there wasn’t a real threat.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘Damn well felt like one though.’ 

Spock said feelingly, ‘Indeed, Captain.’ 

Jim raised his eyebrows at his first officer and hid his smile. ‘It’s a good thing you don’t have to worry about such things.’ 

‘Captain?’ 

‘At times like that, it must be a relief not to have to deal with those pesky human emotions. Fear. Anger.’ 

Spock eyed him steadily. ‘It is a blessing, Captain.’ 

Jim thought of Spock’s hand, warm against his arm as Sulu had counted down to their destruction. He thought, so that’s how we play it. Noted He still couldn't stop the smile that curved his mouth as he held Spock’s gaze. ‘Well, I envy you. Took me an hour in the gym to work off that adrenaline.’ 

Spock said coolly, ‘Do not be concerned Captain, I shall endeavour at all times to compensate for any deficiency in performance brought about by your ‘pesky human emotions.’  

Kirk stared at him for a moment, jaw dropped, then burst into laughter. ‘Well, I very much appreciate your consideration in that area, Mister Spock.’ 

The dark eyes across the desk were warm on his.

He said lightly, ‘I heard you mention your mother today. On the bridge. That’s twice in less than twenty-four hours.’ 

Spock said, ‘It was indicated to me that it is not – illogical – to be proud of one’s heritage.’ 

Kirk grinned. ‘Well, speaking for the human half of your heritage, Mister Spock, we’re proud of you right back.’ 

After a moment, Spock said, ‘I believe you exceed your authority in speaking for an entire race.’ 

Kirk raised his eyebrows, and assumed a serious tone. ‘Beg to differ. I’m a starship captain in deep space. Out here, I am imbued with the authority to speak on behalf of the entire Federation.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘So you’ll have to live with it.’ 

‘I - shall do so, Captain.’ 

Kirk's smile turned, suddenly and unexpectedly, into a yawn. Spock raised an eyebrow at him and Jim suppressed the desire to laugh again. ‘Sorry, Spock, looks like that adrenaline has worn off. I should turn in.’ 

Spock rose and said smoothly, ‘Then I shall leave you to your evening, Captain.’ 

He smiled up at his first officer. ‘Thanks, Spock. See you on the bridge tomorrow.’ 

‘Indeed.’ Spock inclined his head. ‘Goodnight, Captain.’ 

As the door closed, Kirk was already stripping off his uniform and throwing himself on the bed. Sleep came much sooner than expected. His last conscious thought was a mental note to ask Bones about that deck of cards.  

Stardate: 1518.7 / 11am, 21st November 2265  

Yeoman Janice Rand walked the corridors of deck 5, looking for the Captain’s quarters. Despite being on board for nearly three weeks, she had only just received her assignment to act as the Captain’s yeoman, and was slightly discombobulated by the orders in question. She understood the usefulness of the role – keep the Captain’s mind off the small things so he could focus on being the Captain – she just wasn’t expecting it to be assigned to her.  

It was traditional, although not actually mandated, that male captains were assigned a male yeoman, and female captains a female yeoman. And, well, Captain Kirk wasn’t female. Not even in a bad light, if you really squinted. He was, not to put too fine a point on it, quite handsome. And charismatic. Which was all fun to talk about with your fellow yeomen in the rec room of an evening, and in her shared quarters with Yeoman Kamara Carter. It was less amusing when you had to work with him directly. Every day. And had unfettered access to his quarters. She had, overnight, become something of a wet blanket in the ‘trading wistful comments about the attractiveness of one’s command team’ game. In that she no longer tolerated any talk of James Kirk’s relative attractiveness. Professionalism had to be maintained. Fortunately, Kamara, at least, had been easy to distract with an in-depth discussion as to the relationship potential of the ship’s only Vulcan officer.  

Rand came to a halt outside the quarters labelled Captain James T. Kirk and stared at the sign. She needed to familiarize herself with how the Captain liked things done. The layout of his quarters, where he kept his uniforms, what he liked to eat, where he liked his reports left, how often he needed new data recording slides, and so forth. Some of those questions she couldn’t answer without the Captain himself present, but some could be answered with a quick look around his quarters. Which she theoretically had access to at any time. And had time to look at now before her ops shift started. She knew it was her job, but it still felt a little – invasive.  

But the Captain, according to the computer, was on the bridge. And it would hardly be appropriate to call the bridge to ask if she could have a look around his quarters. No, this was her role now, and she had to be – brave about it. He would surely tell her if she overstepped any boundaries. With that less than cheering thought in mind, she touched the access panel, and the doors slid open.  

The Captain’s quarters, as it turned out, were reassuringly underwhelming. About the same size as her own, even with her shared quarters, but still fairly roomy by starship standards. It was apparent right away that the Captain wasn’t one for homely knickknacks. In fact, at a quick glance, she couldn’t see anything at all that wasn’t Starfleet issue, which to Rand’s way of thinking was – a little sad. Still, you didn’t get to be the youngest Captain in the fleet without being at least a little career focused. The only obviously out of place item was a chessboard, which judging from the engraving along one of the struts, was actually Vulcan in origin. So probably belonged to Commander Spock. According to Kamara, who’d come on board with the same intake of new personnel as the Captain, he and Commander Spock had played chess regularly in the rec room at the start of the voyage. Until they’d stopped. 

Well apparently, they hadn’t stopped. Just relocated. Even with Rand’s less than expert grasp of 3D chess, it was clear that this was a game in progress. Well, that’s good, she thought, and mentally ticked ‘Ensure the Captain undertakes regular leisure activity’, off her mental list. Turning to the desk, she frowned slightly. That was – a lot of data discs and padds. No wonder the Captain had given in to command’s pressure to have a yeoman. There was no sign of any food, even though it was lunchtime, and the Captain wasn’t in the habit of eating regularly in the rec room. She made a mental note to speak to Doctor McCoy about the Captain’s eating habits and dietary requirements.  

She had begun to sort through the data discs on the desk with a view to asking the Captain how he would like these stored when a buzzing sound that she had assumed to be part of the ship’s ambient background noise, suddenly called itself to her attention by stopping. She frowned and looked up. Into the loud silence that followed its absence, another noise began. A distinct, and quite masculine, humming. She staring in dawning horror at the closed door to the quarter’s small bathroom. He’d been on the bridge. But she had taken quite a long time to find his quarters, having first been directed to deck twelve, it was enough time for him to have – she dropped the discs back on the desk, and headed for the door. This could definitely wait until -  

The door to the bathroom opened, and James Kirk stepped out, still humming. He’d clearly been in the sonic shower, and had grabbed a towel, more out of habit than necessity. He was in process of slinging that towel around his waist, but the process wasn’t fast enough for Rand’s retinas to avoid being permanently burned with the knowledge that James Kirk was a fine specimen of humanity, however you looked at it, and this was the worst first day of any job she’d ever had and maybe if she dropped dead of embarrassment right now, she’d avoid having to speak to him ever again.  

He’d stopped humming. And damn, but his reaction times were fast. He’d wrapped the towel and reached for his waist – presumably where a phaser would sit – before she had a chance to fully rivet her eyes to the deck.  

His voice was astonishingly calm as he said, ‘I think you have the wrong quarters, Yeoman.’ 

She said, awkwardly, ‘No, sir, I'm really very sorry, I thought you were on the bridge. I’m, er, I’m your yeoman. I was assigned today, and I thought I’d come straight away and see if there was anything I - needed to do.’  

There was a long silence. Then he said, icily, ‘Wait. There.’ 

Eyes still fixed on the deck, Rand heard a drawer open and close, then the bathroom door close again. She stood, cursing the deck’s unwillingness to open and swallow her, and wondered if she’d ever get a starship assignment again, or if she’d be tied to a desk in some basement office at the loneliest Starfleet outpost in the galaxy for the rest of her days.  

Then the bathroom door opened, and her peripheral vision informed her that he was now – thank god – wearing trousers at least. Although he was still barefoot.  

His voice said, ‘Okay, Yeoman. Let’s start this again. What are you doing in my quarters?’ 

She risked a glance upwards, and then straightened in relief. He was wearing uniform trousers and a tunic and the sight was instantly less intimidating than the previous one had been. Uniforms, she could definitely handle.  

‘Yeoman Rand, sir,’ she said quickly. ‘I received notification from Starfleet yesterday that I’d been assigned to you. They were concerned that you hadn’t had a Yeoman so far, and that you needed immediate assistance. When I didn’t hear from you I thought I should see if you needed anything doing straight away.’ She added, a little defensively, ‘I did ask the computer, sir, it said you were on the bridge. I wasn’t planning to disturb you.’  

‘I was on the bridge. We had an – interesting landing party this morning. I had a run in with a mud slide. Gave Commander Spock the conn whilst I cleaned off.’ He frowned. ‘I had a notification from Starfleet too.’ He leaned over the desk and switched the monitor on, ‘I thought it said - ‘ his eyes flicked over the screen as he read quickly, ‘I was getting a Jon.’  

‘Oh, no, sir. It’s Jan, sir, on my record but I prefer Janice, actually. You must’ve -' the words ‘misread it’ hovered in the air, but after a glance at his face, she didn’t say them.  

He said, darkly, 'I see.’  

She swallowed.  

He stood. ‘I need to get back to the bridge. Do whatever you came to do, Yeoman.’ He added, with obvious reluctance, ‘You can come and go as you need to during my duty hours, but off duty, I don’t want to see you in here, understood?’  

His tone was sharp and she suppressed a wince. ‘Understood, sir.’ 

He walked towards the door, and she said, ‘Sir?’  

‘What, Yeoman?’  

She bit her lip, and nodded towards his feet. He looked down, said something vehement under his breath she was glad not to hear, stalked to his closet, grabbed boots, shoved them on, and walked out.  

Janice Rand sank slowly into the visitor’s chair of his desk. The only silver lining she could possibly see was that her relationship with Captain James Kirk was unlikely to get any worse.  

Stardate: 1521.4 / 8pm, 21st November 2265  

‘All in all, Jim, the crew’s in good shape, physically and mentally. Actually somewhat above what I'd expect for this point in long haul voyage.’  

‘That’s good news, Doctor.’ Kirk scrutinized the padd in front of him.  

Behind him, the door to McCoy's office opened.  

McCoy said, ‘Something you need, Yeoman?’ 

Behind Kirk, the voice of Janice Rand said, ‘Er, no, thank you, Doctor. I’ll come back.’ 

Kirk looked up in irritation.  

McCoy’s eyes slid from her to Kirk, then back. He said, ‘Don’t worry Yeoman, we’d finished. I’ll kick the Captain here out, and you can-‘ 

He heard her take a deep breath. ‘Actually Doctor, it was about Captain Kirk. Specifically, his dietary requirements. I’ve noticed he doesn’t have a specific programme allocated for him in the ship’s galley rota.’ 

McCoy raised his eyebrows. ‘Well he should have. I assigned it myself.’ He looked at Kirk, who met his gaze only briefly before looking down at his padd.  

Rand said, ‘Well I’d appreciate a copy, Doctor, so that I can ensure that Captain Kirk sticks to it.’ 

Kirk turned, said pointedly, ‘I’m right here, Yeoman.’ 

She met his eyes steadily. ‘I see that, sir. Was there anything you needed?’ 

Kirk gritted, ‘Not right now, Yeoman, thank you.’ He turned back to McCoy. 

She said, ‘Yes sir. Thank you, Doctor.’ 

McCoy watched her go, a slow grin spreading over his face.  

Kirk looked at him. ‘Don’t.’ 

‘That’s your yeoman?’ 

‘Don’t even - ‘ 

‘Well, she’s ... feisty. And seems smart. And – .’  

‘Stop talking, right now.’  

‘And she’s - quite your type really, isn’t she?’ 

‘Shut up, Bones. Don’t make me order you.’  

‘I mean, if you’d met her in a bar - ‘ 

‘Bones! She’s a member of my crew. And a professional. As am I. So do me a favour, and don’t even joke about it.’ 

‘The doctor nodded. ‘Okay, sorry.’  

Then: ‘But five years, Jim.’ 

Kirk groaned. ‘That’s it. You’re fired. Get off at the next stop.’ 

The doctor made a derisive noise. ‘I wish. And I like her. Anyone who is willing to stand up to you over your dietary habits has a friend in me.’ 

‘Well, she doesn’t have one in me.’ 

‘Oh, stand down, Jim, she’s a practically a kid, and just trying to make the best of a tough spot.’ 

Kirk stared at him. ‘A tough spot?’ 

‘She’s your yeoman. I wouldn’t want the job. You like to keep this aura of the invincible commander all the time, and if she hangs around, she might get a glimpse of the man, and that wouldn’t do, would it? God knows the great and wonderful Captain Kirk can’t have any flaws.’ 

Kirk frowned. ‘I don’t think that’s fair.’ 

McCoy snorted and raised an eyebrow at him.  

Kirk looked around to check the office door had definitely closed, then said, with reluctant humour, ‘Actually, she’s already had a glimpse of the man, and we were both suitably horrified by the experience.’  

‘Jim, what the hell are you on about?’ 

Kirk related his first meeting with Rand, and even managed a weak smile when McCoy had to make an effort to breathe around his laughter. ‘Well, I’m glad someone found it funny.’ 

McCoy said, around subsiding mirth, ‘Oh that poor girl.’ 

‘Her? What about me? Innocently walking around my own quarters, minding my business -’ 

‘You? Innocent?’ McCoy scoffed. ‘Jim, you haven’t been innocent in years. Ever since that, god what was her name, you get moon eyes when you talk about her - ‘ 

‘Her name,’ Kirk said archly, ‘was Ruth, and I do not - ‘ 

‘Yeah, y’do.’ McCoy waved a hand. ‘Anyway, point is, cut that poor woman some slack. Be Captain Friendly-Uncle-Jim, not Captain Fire-breathing-martinet.’ 

Kirk said, ‘When I get hold of the pen pusher at headquarters – ‘ He caught McCoy's eye, and sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll take it under advisement, Doctor.’ 

Uhura followed Spock along the corridor towards his quarters. ‘This is terribly kind of you, Commander. It’s so difficult to get hold of Vulcan texts off-planet.’ 

They'd been running over some intricacies of the Vulcan language in the rec room. Uhura had been feeling she’d acquitted herself quite well, until Lieutenant Farrell's birthday party had arrived, and the ensuing noise had prevented her hearing the finer detail that Spock was attempting to convey.  

Spock had offered to lend her a book that would elucidate some of his points and she hurried to keep up with his long stride as they neared his quarters.  As the doors opened, he said, ‘No thanks are necessary, Lieutenant. It is gratifying to hear my language spoken by an enthusiastic and able student.’ 

She smiled in pleasure, and hovered by the door as he moved to a bookshelf across the room. 

He called back, ‘Please come in, Lieutenant, whilst I locate an appropriate text.’ 

It would have been an utter lie to say she wasn’t more than a little curious to see Commander Spock’s quarters, so she stepped across the threshold with alacrity. 

The first thing that struck her was the lighting – significantly less harsh than that of the corridor outside- and the temperature, a few degrees warmer than the rest of the ship. She wondered if both things reflected Vulcan, and mentally renewed her vow to visit one day. As Spock reviewed the books on his shelf, she gazed around.  

She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting, but it had involved strict functionality and very logical arrangements of items. What met her eyes was almost – homely. Apart from the shelves containing books – of which there were many, both in standard and Vulcan, technical manuals, and literature and some she couldn’t guess at – there were other shelves of imagery that she vaguely recognised, again reflecting both Vulcan and Earth.  

There was a beautifully woven rug near one wall, and next to it was hung a dark robe which looked to be made of an incredibly soft, tactile material. The covers on the bed were likewise not Starfleet issue, far too rich and elegant. Uhura thought she wouldn't have guessed in a million years that their resident Vulcan officer was quite so quietly hedonistic. His quarters almost matched her own for comfort. She felt herself growing fonder of him even as she stood there.  

As he turned towards her, book in hand, her eyes fell on another item, and she gasped in pleased surprise.  

‘Mister Spock, do you play?’ 

He followed her gaze to the Vulcan lyre leaning against a stand near the desk. 

‘Yes, Lieutenant.’ 

‘Where do you play? I’d love to hear you.’ 

He blinked in contained surprise. ‘I - do not habitually play in public.’ 

She turned a pleading gaze on him. ‘Oh you should! I'd bet you play beautifully, and I’m sure I’m not the only who’d like to hear you.’ 

He began, ‘I am not cer-' 

She said, with winning enthusiasm, ‘Come to the rec room and play for us tomorrow evening. Oh! Maybe I could sing with you.’ She beamed at him and, against his better instincts, Spock heard himself say, ‘I will consider it, Lieutenant.’ 

She said, as if he’d agreed with enthusiasm, 'That will be wonderful, Mister Spock.’ 

*

Stardate: 1533.7 / 23rd November 2265  

‘Yeoman.’ 

Janice Rand looked up at Kirk’s voice from where she was retrieving a signed padd and tray from his desk.  

‘Sorry, sir, I’m done now. I’ll get out of your way.’ She swept up the padd and tray, and moved past him to leave.  

As she reached the door, he said, ‘Yeoman. I didn’t take seriously your concerns regarding Charlie quickly enough. Yesterday could have gone differently if I had. I won’t make that mistake again.’ 

She had turned to look at him as he spoke, but now dropped her gaze, and looked miserably at the edge of his desk. He said, more gently, ‘You did well, Yeoman. Tomorrow will be better.’ 

She nodded.  

He pointed at the tray. ‘Whilst you’re here - was that - really a McCoy sanctioned meal?’ 

She looked up, immediately concerned. ‘Was there something wrong with it, Captain?’ 

‘Well, yes. It was - palatable. And not rabbit food.’ 

She smiled, small but distinct. ‘Ah. Well, it was mostly Doctor- sanctioned, Captain, yes.’ 

‘Mostly?’ He raised an eyebrow. 

She said, ‘I may have – embellished somewhat on the doctor’s suggestions, based on your previous self-selected meals. The basic nutritional value remains almost the same, so I - er - didn’t see the need to mention it to the doctor.’  

Kirk said hastily, ‘Very wise, Yeoman.  I think we should stick to your - very sensible alterations. And as you say, no need to mention it to Doctor McCoy.’ 

‘No, Captain.’ She was genuinely smiling now.  

‘Goodnight Yeoman.’ 

‘Goodnight, sir.’ 

As the door closed behind her, Kirk thought for the first time that having Rand as a yeoman might not be as terrible an idea as he’d first imagined.  

Stardate: 1558.4 / 26th November 2265

McCoy looked up at the second door chime, and sighed. On the third, he said, 'Alright! Come in.'

The doors slid apart to reveal the Enterprise's Captain, and McCoy frowned. 'I thought tonight was chess night?'

Kirk came over to the desk. 'Well, it's not set in stone. And Spock's in the lab anyway. I tried to interest him in -' he raised the bottle in his hand, '- but no dice.'

McCoy stared at the bottle. 'What is it?'

Kirk sat, and placed the bottle ceremoniously on the table. 'This is Scotty's finest.'

'McCoy raised an eyebrow. 'Please tell me you just walked into engineering and demanded the produce of the illegal still because in that case I'm going to need to look out the security footage of Scotty's face.'

Kirk smiled. 'Not quite. I had to be a little more circumspect. Plausible deniability is intact on both sides.' He poured them both a drink and pushed one across the table.

McCoy said desultorily, 'Good to know.'

They sat in silence for a while, neither drinking, before Jim said, 'I'm sorry, Len. About today.'

McCoy nodded, said roughly. 'Not your fault. It was over before we arrived.' He picked up his drink, said in choked voice, 'She'd been dead for years. I didn't even know.' 

Jim said, 'That wasn't your fault.'

McCoy said, 'Today was. Jim, I'm the one who should be saying sorry. We lost three good men. If it wasn't for Spock, we might have lost you. I - I let you down. I-' His voice broke. 

Kirk was shaking his head. 'Nonsense. You've never let me down, Bones.' He reached across the desk and squeezed his CMO's arm. 'You got your head turned by someone you once cared for a great deal. That could have been any of us. God knows how I'd react if we beamed down to a planet and it was Ruth, or Carol. We've all got someone like that in our past.'

McCoy swallowed, and nodded.

They both drank, then coughed in unison. 

Kirk cleared his throat, said, 'Well, it's better than the last batch I tasted.'

McCoy said, 'Should be. I had a word after last time. I had to keep two Ensigns under observation overnight.'

'Do I want to know who?'

McCoy said, with something of his usual spirit, 'No, and I wouldn't tell you anyway.' 

Kirk smiled behind his glass. 'Fair enough.' 

He watched McCoy watch the liquid swirl in his glass. He said, 'You gonna be okay?'

McCoy gave him a weak smile. 'Yeah. 'Course.' He added bitterly,  'I've been through worse. Adele leaving and taking Jo is still number one. No alien shape shifters going to top that.' 

Kirk's eyes fell on the picture of Joanna McCoy on her father's desk. 'How's she doing?'

'Good. Really good. She's smart, like her momma. Asks after you. Wants you to come to her seventeenth.' 

Kirk stared, 'She's sixteen?! When did that happen?.'

McCoy snorted. 'I know. It's ridiculous. Keep expecting her to answer the comm in pigtails.' He paused, then said carefully, 'Do you - ever hear from Carol?'

Kirk said abruptly, 'No.' He sipped his drink, then stared miserably at the liquid. 'He'll be four soon.' 

'Sorry, Jim. That's- tough.'

Kirk swallowed, said, 'Spock taught me a Vulcan word the other day: Kaiidth. What is, is. Teaches acceptance. I'm trying to apply to relevant areas of my life.'

McCoy let out a huff of laughter. 'That's the least Jim Kirk word I've ever heard. Acceptance.' He snorted. 'On the day you die, maybe.' 

Kirk managed a smile. 'Okay, but it doesn't mean I shouldn't make the effort. We could all stand to be a bit more Vulcan sometimes.'

McCoy made a non-committal humming noise, then said, 'I wonder '- he broke off. 

'What?'

'What you said before. We've all got someone like that in our past. I've got Nancy, and Adele. You've got Carol, and Ruth. I was wondering who Spock's lost loves are? If he even has any.'

Kirk said, looking suddenly discomfited, 'I - guess he must do. Everyone's got someone.'

McCoy looked sceptical. 'I'm not so sure. I can't picture Spock leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him, he's far too - logical for that.'

'Well, he must have had - someone.' Kirk finished his drink. 'I mean, he's a catch by any standards. And, yeah, I can't imagine him sleeping around but he wouldn't need to. He'd just need to turn up and be himself. I'm surprised he's not beating them off with a stick every time we've got leave.'

McCoy looked at him oddly for a moment, then a thought occurred to him and he grinned. 'Speaking of people throwing themselves at Spock, have you seen that rec room footage from last week?'

Kirk frowned. 'No, what?'

'Someone from security caught it and sent it 'round. Uhura persuaded Spock to play in the rec room, and made up a song about him.'

'Wait, what? Persuaded Spock to play what? And Uhura sings?!'

McCoy reached for his desk monitor. 'The lyre, apparently, and yes, of course she does, everyone knows that. Honestly Jim, get off the bridge or out of your quarters occasionally.'

'I'm the Captain,' Kirk muttered defensively, 'Might as well have 'hideous killjoy' tattooed on my forehead. No-one tells me anything, except you.'

McCoy turned the screen so Kirk could see it. 'Here. Watch this.'

Uhura's voice came clearly over the small speakers. 'Oh, on the starship Enterprise -' 

Kirk watched in mounting astonishment. A few things called themselves to his attention immediately. Firstly, Uhura had hidden vocal talents that were wasted hailing people on the ship all day. Secondly, Spock was really good at an instrument that Kirk hadn't even known he owned. Thirdly, whilst no stick beating was necessary, there were more than a few admiring glances being thrown his first officer's way. Spock himself seemed oblivious, looking only at Uhura as she sang, or at his instrument. He was moving gently in time with the music, and had a look of easy, relaxed focus that JIm had never seen before, and suddenly wanted to see again. Then, as Uhura turned her playful flirting his way, he almost smiled. Kirk watched in bemused fascination. 

The song came to an end, and McCoy laughed. 'You've got to hand it to Uhura, that was pretty good, off the cuff.'

Kirk roused himself. 'Yeah. I should get her to sing some of our announcements. It would certainly liven things up.' 

 *

Stardate: 1572.2 / 28th November 2265 

When alpha shift ended, Kirk stood, moved to the turbolift, and left without a word. Spock watched him go with concern. His Captain had been - preoccupied all day. His job performance had not been impaired - he had negotiated skillfully with the traders they had encountered, reviewed and corrected numerous reports, overseen three security drills, and reacted with what Spock felt had been a deeply felt level of compassion to the news of Commander Darren's recent bereavement. 

But he was, Spock thought - to utilise an odd human expression his mother had frequently employed - not himself. And he had cried off their evening chess game muttering something about reports and 'fleet command. it was an excuse that would have worked on anyone else other than his first officer, who, due to the closeness in their working relationship, was well aware that there was nothing due to command for another three days. 

He returned to his quarters thoughtfully. His usual approach - one that had frequently worked with human colleagues in the past - was to ignore it. Humans were often illogical, and emotional, and given time would regularly work through whatever issue was concerning them without outside intervention, and return to their usual demeanour within short order. 

But Jim was - different. Illogical though he frequently was, it rarely manifested as an alteration to his usual, upbeat mood. And when his mood was changed, Spock was almost always able to identify the reason for the change. On this occasion however, he was at a loss. And that was - troubling. 

It was not to do with their working life, he was sure. Jim had been cheerful yesterday. And nothing had happened on the ship of sufficient significance in the last twenty-four hours to effect the Captain's mood. Therefore the issue was personal. It was also, therefore, strictly speaking, none of the business of the Enterprise's first officer. 

However, it was the business of the ship's first officer to support the Captain in all things. And without knowing the reason for his Captain's current low mood, he could not seek to rectify it, or provide adequate support. He would not know how deep the malaise ran, or if his Captain was suffering. And that was unacceptable. 

He considered for a while longer, then stepped along the corridor to the Captain's quarters. He entered at the summons, and looked around. 

Kirk was sitting on his bed, back against the wall, in a dark coloured, plain shirt and loose trousers. He was barefoot, feet flat against the surface of the bed, knees bent up and his arms resting atop them. He was holding a glass lightly in both hands, which even from this distance Spock's olfactory senses could recognise as strongly alcoholic. 

'Hey Spock.' He shot him a smile which Spock immediately recognised as one of the Captain's diplomatic expressions. His concern increased. 'Any, er - any chance this can wait until tomorrow? I was thinking I might turn in early.' 

'I am not here on ship's business.'

'Oh.' Kirk blinked. 'Well in that case, and with the caveat that it's always great to see you, what are you doing here, and could we make it quick?'

Spock walked past the lattice divider, and towards the bed. He gestured towards the empty end of it. 'May I?'

Kirk looked amused, then sighed. 'Sure. Go ahead.'

Spock sat.  

Kirk looked at him. 'You know, I thought I'd done pretty well. Good negotiation, got my reports signed off, fair assessment on those drills, even a pretty reasonable excuse to miss our chess game. And yet, here you are.'

He took a sip of his drink and swallowed. 'So, where did I go wrong, Mister Spock? Bit short with the merchants? Miss something in the reports? Not strict enough on the drills?' 

Spock blinked. 'No, Captain. Your performance was, as ever, exemplary. However, if I might venture to make an observation somewhat out of my area of expertise, you have appeared today to be - and still appear to be -unhappy.' 

Kirk looked at him sharply, 'Concerned that my emotional state might start to impact my performance?'

Spock said evenly, 'Although I have often observed that to be the case in humans, it is rarely so with you, and it was not so today. You are valuable beyond your inestimable worth to this ship and the crew as their Captain, simply as yourself. And you deserve consideration as such. I am speaking to you as - a friend.' 

Kirk looked at him for a long moment, then his gaze softened. There was something sad in his expression as he said quietly, ‘Honestly, Spock - sometimes I wish I was half the man you seem to think I am.’ 

‘In what way do you believe I have overestimated you, Captain?’ 

He quirked a half smile. ‘Spock, I’m off duty. Out of uniform. Do I have to ask you to call me Jim again?’ 

‘My apologies. Jim.’ 

Kirk drained his glass, and placed it down beside him.

After a few moments, he said, ‘When Charlie left. We were talking about what we could have done differently and I said - something about not having been a positive father figure for him, and you said -' he took a breath '- you said - you thought I’d make a good father. I should have told you then - you were wrong about that.’

He reached for the bottle, poured another drink, placed it down again. ‘You see, I - I have a son. It's his birthday today. He's four. I haven't seen him since he was six months old.’ He met Spock’s gaze briefly, then looked away. He continued bitterly, ‘You see? By anyone's standards, that’s not – father of the year.’ 

Into the silence that followed, Spock said quietly, and the question was oddly weighted, ‘Is it your choice that you do not see your son?’  

Kirk said reluctantly, ‘Yes.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘No. I mean, if I had the choice, I’d see him. I’d always want to know what was happening with him. I’d want to tell him about what I do. But I can’t. I promised his mother.'

He took a deep breath. ‘When we found out that she was pregnant Carol said that I could choose. Leave Starfleet and be with her and David as a family, or stay in Starfleet and have nothing to do with either of them. So: yeah. It was my choice. There are other jobs. I could have stayed on at the Academy, lectured cadets. I could have captained a merchant ship. Less risk.’ He stopped, swallowed another sip of his drink, stared unseeing at the glass.  

‘But I wanted this.' He gestured to the ship around them. 'I wanted this. I’ve wanted it since I was a kid. I couldn't imagine life without it. But I could imagine - a life without them. So, I chose.’ 

After a moment, Spock said carefully, ‘That was not a true choice. You would not have flourished in that other life.’  

Jim said, ‘It wasn’t just about what I wanted. I was scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d end up resenting her. Resenting him.’ 

Spock said, protectively, ‘That was not a choice with which you should have ever been presented.’ 

Kirk shook his head. ‘Don't blame Carol. Her father and her older brother were in the ‘fleet. When she was a kid they were both killed. Within a year of each other. She didn’t want David to go through anything like that. I - I understood. I didn't like it, but I understood. I understand. It's just - hard, being on this side of it.’ 

Kirk stopped again. Swirled the liquid in his glass. ‘When I was a kid I used to sleep out in the barn some nights. There was this huge skylight. I’d lie there and look up the stars and I just - knew. One day I’d be out there, with my own ship. It felt like – destiny somehow.’  

He gave a half embarrassed, rueful smile. ‘That’s probably a bit too fanciful a concept for Vulcans.’  

Spock put his head on one side, considering.  ‘We have a similar idea - buk. It perhaps lacks the metaphysical element of the human concept, but it embraces the notion that any young person is liable to demonstrate a predisposition for a particular area of skilled endeavor. It would have been obvious even at a relatively young age that this was the path for which you were most suited. If the term you wish to use for that is destiny then I believe it would be – sufficiently accurate.’ 
 
Kirk gave him a half smile. After a while, he said thickly, ‘I think about him, you know. What things he likes. What he's doing. If he ever looks up at the stars and – wonders.’ 

Spock said gently, ‘Jim. I stand by my original statement. For all that you have been effectively denied the opportunity to demonstrate it, I still believe that you would have been a good father. Indeed, it could be argued that in acquiescing to the wishes of his mother in this way, that you are a good father.’ 

Kirk absorbed this in silence. After a moment he cleared his throat. ‘Spock, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your good opinion of me, but by God, I’m going to try and keep it.’ 

Silence fell again. Kirk refilled his drink. Looked across at his science officer, who appeared to be deep in thought. After a moment, Spock said slowly, ‘Relationships within families, particularly fathers and sons, can be - difficult even in the best of circumstances, and those you have described - are not the best of circumstances.’ 

Jim’s vague instinct that the subject of this conversation had not entirely been himself and David, solidified immediately. He sipped his drink, and waited, feeling oddly unburdened, and watching his science officer. 

Some little time went by before Spock shifted uneasily, and then said quietly, ‘I have not spoken to my own father in 18 years. We – are estranged.’ 

Kirk stared at him. Whatever he’d been expecting, that hadn’t been it. ‘What? Why?’  

‘He did not - He does not - approve of my leaving Vulcan for Starfleet Academy.’ 

‘You -’ Kirk gaped at him in disbelief, ‘And he’s held that over you for eighteen years?’ 

‘I defied his expressly stated wishes on the subject. It was – important to him that I enrolled at the Vulcan Science Academy. On Vulcan, children are expected to obey the wishes of their parents due to their greater wisdom. To do otherwise is thought - illogical.’ 

Kirk said with certainty, 'Spock, holding that against you for eighteen years is what’s illogical.’ 

Spock didn’t reply, so Kirk continued, ‘But surely, I mean - you’ve made such a success of your career. I know you’ve had papers published by the VSA. I’ve read them. Well, those I understood. Surely, now -’ 

‘I do not believe it is – sufficient.’ Spock’s face was shuttered.  

‘Damn.’ Kirk shook his head. ‘I can’t - I can’t imagine that. If David grew up to be half the man that you are – I'd be so proud, I’d burst. I’d want to tell the whole damn galaxy.’ 

Spock looked away, said, unsteadily, ‘That is - not the Vulcan way.’  

Jim watched him for a moment, then said gently, ‘Spock. Tell me if this is none of my business, but - why did you leave Vulcan?’ 

Spock looked at him. 

Kirk said, ‘Why the Academy? That was - a hell of thing to do. Leaving your planet. Leaving your family. Being the first Vulcan in Starfleet. Especially when it was all against your father’s wishes.’  

Spock seemed about to speak, then he looked down at the bed between them. When he looked up again, it was directly into Kirk’s eyes.  

He said quietly, ‘I, too, looked to the stars, Jim.‘  

Notes:

Woke up this morning convinced I was going to delete this fic entirely. RL is too much at the moment for me to really do it justice. Couldn't bring myself to do it though, because I've written nearly 50k of later chapters in this and I'm a bit proud of some of it (not much, but some, lol), so I do want to get there.

But I am going to move forward faster and start missing out eps, so stick with it if you're finding the pace a bit glacial!

Up next: it's Christmas on the Enterprise, there's a party going on, and everyone is having fun. Except the Captain.

(Anyone else curious to hear about the Christmas party that Kirk is really super awkward about in Dagger of the Mind? Yeah, me too.)

Chapter 5: The Enemies Within

Summary:

Scenes set before and after 'The Enemy Within'.

Scenes set during and after 'The Naked Time'.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Stardate: 1577.1 / 29th  November 2265  

“Hold on. Stardates seventeen forty-five to seventeen fifty-nine? That’s - twenty-second to twenty-fourth December, roughly, Earth calendar?” 

“Yes, Captain.” 

“You want leave to go to a conference that’s on from twenty-second to twenty-fourth of December?” 

“With two day’s travel either side. Yes, Captain.” 

“That’s - that’s a traditional holiday, Spock.” 

“On Earth, Captain. The conference is on Starbase thirty-two. It is a highly prestigious conference, hosted by the Vulcan Science Academy. It is an honor to be invited to speak.” 

“Well yes, I’m sure it is. I mean, that’s great, Spock. That’s great for you.” 

“It would also be advantageous for the ‘fleet to have representation there.”  

“Right. Yes. Of course, it would. Of course, you can go. I hope the VSA realize how lucky they are to have you.” 

“Thank you, Captain. I apologize for interrupting your workout.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Stardate: 1583.4 / 30th  November 2265  

Christine Chapel stared in consternation at the corridor in front of her. Why did every corridor on this ship look the same? This was definitely deck seven, so where was sickbay? Shouldn’t it be signed, at least? 

A voice behind her said gently, “Can I help?” 

She turned to find a kindly-looking human woman in an operations uniform smiling at her.  

“Oh yes, thank you – I know it’s ridiculous but - I’m lost. I’m new today and I’m trying to find sickbay.” 

The other woman’s smile widened. “It’s not ridiculous at all. On my first day, I couldn’t find the bridge.” She stuck out a hand. “Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, Communications.” 

Chapel shook the offered hand, smiling at her in relief. “Nurse Christine Chapel, Medical. Well, assuming I ever find sickbay.” 

Uhura laughed. “It’s not far. Come on, I’ll walk you.” 

“That’s very kind Lieutenant, thank you, but I don’t want to put you out.” 

“You aren’t, it’s no trouble at all. And call me Nyota.” The two women fell into step.  

“Oh, well, then you must call me Christine.” 

As they walked, Uhura said, with mild curiosity, “I thought we had all our crew by now.”  

Chapel looked a little embarrassed. “Officially, you do. I’m something of a last-minute addition – I volunteered.” 

Uhura raised her eyebrows. “I definitely didn’t think we took volunteers. If I’d known that, I’d’ve been on a starship at thirteen.”  

It was Christine’s turn to laugh. “Well, it’s a long story, but I needed to join a ship that was coming out this far. I'm looking for my fiancée.”  

Uhura’s eyes widened. “And that sounds like a story I’d like to hear.” She gestured down the corridor they’d just turned into. “Sickbay is just along here.” 

Chapel said, “Well, I’d be - happy to tell it to you sometime. I don’t actually know anyone on board.” 

Uhura said firmly, “In that case, you should come to the rec room this evening, and I’ll introduce you. Don’t worry, everyone will be delighted to meet you. And here we are.” 

The doors to sickbay swished obediently open at their arrival. Chapel looked around in curiosity. As McCoy emerged from his office, Uhura said, “I’ll leave you in Doctor McCoy’s capable hands but I’ll swing by after my shift?” 

Chapel smiled. “That would be lovely. Thank you. Nyota.” 

Towards the end of her shift, Christine Chapel was feeling noticeably less anxious. Doctor Leonard McCoy had turned out to be a forthright, irascible, but fundamentally kindly, Southerner. She’d harbored more than a little concern that he might not appreciate having an inexperienced starship nurse foisted upon him. She’d been prepared to stand her ground – after all, she’d had to fight Starfleet to get this far – but contrary to her worst expectations, he’d been genuinely pleased to see her. ‘The more, the merrier’ seemed to be his philosophy on staff, and he’d immediately set up a training regime on any starship equipment and procedures she might not be intimately familiar with.  

The few crewmembers that she’d encountered had been friendly, and she was somewhat nervously looking forward to meeting Nyota. It was strange to be amongst colleagues again. Much of her focus since Roger’s disappearance had been on trying to find a way to get to him, often at the cost of her own work, and her other relationships. Loneliness was a feeling Christine Chapel wore like amour against a discouraging world, and having people show an interest, even a professional one, was – disconcerting. It was a difficult thing to admit, even to herself, but sometimes, in the quiet of the night, it was getting harder to remember the impetus that had propelled her single-minded quest.  

Some of the adrenaline that had driven her this far was beginning to dissipate now she had actually made it on board a starship, and the hand that reached for the scanner Dr McCoy was having her study was not entirely steady. Preoccupied, she flexed her hand, willing it to settle, and the motion knocked the padd she’d been studying onto the floor, where it skidded away from her.

She turned to retrieve it, and almost walked into a tall, elegant Vulcan who had smoothly retrieved it from the deck and was now reaching around her to return it to the desk.  

Chapel said, “Oh! Thank you.” And stared at him in consternation.  

He inclined his head. “You are most welcome, Nurse-?” 

He had the most extraordinary dark eyes. The anxiety, that had begun to settle, returned. Feeling suddenly awkward and gauche, she stammered, “Chapel. Christine. Christine Chapel. I’m new. Today.”  

“Indeed. Welcome to the Enterprise, Nurse Chapel. I am the ship’s first officer, Commander Spock.” 

She been so concerned with getting on the Enterprise, she hadn’t so much as glanced at the crew manifest. She’d had no idea there was even a Vulcan on board. “Thank you. Very much, Commander. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  

An thoughtful look crossed his face for a moment, and then he said, “I read a biomedical research paper last year from the laboratory of Doctor Roger Corby. The author was Christine Chapel.” 

She blinked at him in genuine surprise. “That’s me. That was – my paper. One of them, anyway.” 

He looked immediately interested. “That was excellent and most intriguing work. It is not my area of expertise, but the implications of your research were profound.”  

“Thank you.” She smiled in genuine delight. It had been a long time since anyone had even remembered her work, let alone commented on it. “Roger and I were very excited about it.” 

He almost frowned. “Forgive me, but are you not – somewhat overqualified for this role?” 

To her consternation, Christine felt herself blush. “Well, no actually, I mean, I am a nurse, but I’m under-experienced really, for a starship. But yes, I suppose, it’s unusual for a starship nurse to have my extensive academic background."  

He seemed about to say more when the door to McCoy’s office opened.  

“Ah! Spock!” McCoy’s voice hailed from his office. “Walk this way.” 

“Excuse me, Nurse.” She nodded hastily as he turned to walk to McCoy. “May I enquire as to the purpose of your summons, Doctor?” 

The doctor smiled cheerily. “You may indeed, Commander.”  

The doors closed behind them. At the table, Christine Chapel breathed out slowly. He wasn’t Selen. Intellectually, she knew that. But the younger, heart-broken woman inside her was not convinced.  

Spock eyed McCoy suspiciously across his desk. “You appear to be in an excellent mood, Doctor. It is – somewhat disquieting.” 

McCoy grinned at him. “And you’re not gonna spoil it for me, so don’t try. Anyway, it’s good news for you. As of today, I not only have a full complement of staff, but a Deputy CMO, and a bonus nurse.” 

“I met your new nurse, but I fail to see, other than the improvement in your generally disgruntled demeanour, how this is good news for me?” 

“I’m getting to that, Mister Smart-Alec. It’s good news for you, because one of our new staff, Doctor M’Benga, did his internship on Vulcan. He is therefore something of an expert on Vulcan diseases and physiology.” McCoy grinned at him expectantly.  

Spock raised an eyebrow, said neutrally. “That is – good news.” 

“Yes, so I can transfer your care to him immediately.” 

Spock did not respond. His face displayed no reaction.  

McCoy’s smile slipped a little as he said, “Spock, if that’s okay with you?” 

The Vulcan said, somewhat hesitantly, “Is it - necessary that you do so? Would you - prefer me to be under the care of another physician?” 

McCoy frowned. “Well, to be honest, no, not after all the work I’ve put in getting familiar with your unique physiology. But – M'Benga’s a Vulcan specialist. And a superb doctor. We’re lucky to have him, and I just thought – you might prefer him.” 

Spock said, “I would not.” 

McCoy stared at him for a moment. 

Then he opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “Right. Okay. You and me it is, then.” 

“Will there be anything else, Doctor?” 

McCoy blinked. “Nope. No, that was it.” 

Spock nodded. “Then: Good day, Doctor.” He had turned on his heel and left before McCoy had a chance to respond.  

McCoy watched the closing door as a smile slowly formed on his face. 

*  

Stardate: 1674.1 / 13th  December 2265  

Spock looked at his Captain across the desk in Jim’s quarters. They had finished their carefully worded reports on the day’s events, but Kirk still looked – unhappy. Spock was aware that their conversation had been solely professional up to this point, and wondered if he should enquire further as to his Captain’s private thoughts on the matter. Jim had been – unusually quiet.  

He said, ‘You are content with the reports, Captain?’ 

Kirk, who had been staring at the padd, blinked at him in surprise. ‘What? Oh, yes, sorry. They're fine. Feel free to - ‘ He made a vague gesture in the direction of Spock’s quarters, “-carry on with your evening.”  

Spock stood, sensitive to the implied dismissal, took a step away, then said gently, “Jim. You appear distracted.” 

Kirk huffed an unconvincing laugh. “I came face to face with my dark side today, Spock, I think – yeah, I think ‘distracted’ sums it up.” He ran a hand across his face.  

Spock said carefully, ‘Under the circumstances, both yourself and the crew were as effective as possible. I do not think we could have done anything more efficiently, as I have stated in my report. The obvious solution was identified and the double contained quickly, preventing further harm.” 

Kirk looked at him for a long moment, then smiled gently. “It wasn’t really the most  obvious solution though, was it?” 

“Captain?” 

“You had the testimonies of Rand and Farrell, neither of whom had any reason to lie. In fact they both had a pretty strong incentive to pretend it never happened. You had Rand's injuries and obvious distress. And you had me, already behaving a bit strangely, insisting it didn’t happen. Your solution? There’s a double of the Captain on board.” 

“And that was indeed the case.” 

“Yes, but that wasn’t the conclusion that anyone else would have reached for. The most logical, the most obvious solution was that  -  I was lying.” 

He watched Spock’s face crease slightly between the eyes – the Vulcan equivalent of a deep frown, and shook his head with a barely-there laugh. “Didn’t even occur to you, did it?” 

Spock said, a little stiffly, “It suggested itself as one of many solutions to the mystery but I dismissed it as so unlikely to have occurred that it did not merit serious consideration.” 

Kirk said quietly, “Spock.” He took a breath. “Thank you. For continuing to believe in me when everyone else, including me, was ready to give up.” 

“It would have been highly illogical do to otherwise, Captain.” 

“If you say so, Mister Spock.” 

Kirk leaned his head into his hands. After a long moment he looked up, ran his hands across his face, and stared dully at the bulkhead. Spock watched him in concern.  

He said quietly, “I’ve got his memories. Since the transporter. They’re not – clear, it’s like - remembering some horrible dream. But I do remember – her face. She was terrified. Of me.” 

Spock crossed back to the desk, and sat slowly down. Kirk continued, “I spoke to her earlier. Gave the chance to transfer – with the highest recommendation – or do some other job on the Enterprise. She wouldn’t hear of it. Said that we’d both had – a difficult day.” He huffed a bitter laugh, shook his head. “You know, I’ve always prided myself on being a good judge of character. Being able to identify people’s strengths and weaknesses. But I underestimated Janice Rand. She’s - handling this better than I am.”  

After a moment, Spock said quietly, “It was not you.” 

Kirk said bitterly, “It was though, wasn’t it? A part of me, anyway.” 

Spock stirred in his chair. He said, “Jim, we all have within us the capacity for horrors. Amongst my kind, it was only the teaching of Surak that led Vulcans from a path of vicious self-destruction. Even now, when stripped of our logic, our reason, our higher instincts – the results can be terrible. That is what was done to you, and you are not responsible for it.” 

“But I still feel responsible.” 

“I do not believe that Yeoman Rand holds you responsible.” 

“No. No, she doesn’t. She made that clear. She was – very kind about it.” 

“Then it is even more illogical for you to continue to berate yourself.” 

They sat in silence for a moment.  

Kirk said, “My dark side – hid in the shadows. Attacked people. Avoided my friends. My light side – went straight to you.” He gave his first officer a small smile. “Thank you for your faith in me. For protecting me in front of the crew. And for being the light to my darkness.” 

“There is no need to thank me, Captain. I did only my duty.” 

Kirk smiled at him then, a more genuine one. “In that case, Mister Spock, I think I’d be worried if you ever decided to go above and beyond the call.”  He sat back, regarding his first officer with affection.

After a moment his smile faded, and he said, “Spock, there’s something else I remember. The conversation in sickbay. I heard what you said about living with two halves of yourself, constantly at war.” 

Spock regarded him uncertainly. A look passed across his face too quickly for Jim to make sense of it.  

Kirk said, “ If there’s ever anything I can do to make that war easier, you only have to ask.” 

Later that evening Spock had donned his robe in preparation for his evening meditation. His mind kept returning to the conversation he had had with Jim. Something about it was troubling, but he was unable to identify the source of the problem. Something about the way Jim had looked at him? No. Jim often looked at him in that fashion. With – affection. It had been disconcerting at first, but Spock has gradually adjusting to what was, after all, a not entirely unpleasing phenomenon. The source of his unsettled mind lay closer to home. In his own reactions. He began his meditation with the intent of identifying this issue.  

Half an hour later, he opened his eyes in concern. The answer was apparent. He – returned Jim’s feelings of friendship. Almost accidentally, and somehow against his conscious will, he had become fond – no, excessively fond – of James Kirk. He had had friendships before that had been disturbing to his emotional equilibrium, but not to this extent and consistency. But then he had not had occasion to spend as much time with any other friend before. Had not, in fact, wished to. Perhaps, in close friendships, amongst humans, this was normal. Perhaps this unexpected and easy sympathy, this feeling of home in the company of another, this strange but welcome bond which had grown slowly and unnoticed between them, was natural to humans.  

But it was not Vulcan. He must seek to – regulate this odd emotional attachment, lest it develop into a dependency. A need for this friendship. He must not betray his people any further with an unnecessary and illogical attachment to this particular human.  

Stardate: 1709.4 / 17th December 2265, 21:24 Ship’s time 
 
Spock looked into Christine Chapel's dark eyes, inches from his own. Her hands enclosed his. He could feel the warmth of her, the truth of her emotion. Why could he feel her so intensely? Even with their physical closeness he should still be able to - why was he not able to wall her gentle affection away from his mind? Something was wrong. Something was preventing him. His ability to shield, his control, was – compromised. He felt the sharp edge of fear. The illness. He was infected. He needed to –

“I love you. I don't know why, but I love you.” 

Behind the nurse’s voice he heard another. Another human female: younger, closer. 

I love you.  

He pulled his hands away. He must not remember. He must not – 

He staggered out of sickbay.  

I love you.   

Fear. Fear in the face of overwhelming emotion. The associated memories began to force themselves to his consciousness.  

How was your class, Spock?”  

“We discussed familial bonds, mother.”  

Did you? Well, I’m sure that was interesting.”   Her voice is gentle, but he thinks he detects some concern behind it.  

Yes. It was thought strange that you and I do not share a familial bond.” He does not say, I am the only one in my class without it.   

She frowns at that. Well, it’s not very strange, Spock. I am human, after all. I hope no-one made you feel -”   

He interrupts her quickly. Yes, mother, but you share a bond with father. Therefore, it is possible.”  

Well, yes, but that’s - different, sweetheart. Your father’s mental discipline is excellent and compensates for the lack of physic ability or training on my side.”    

“Please mother, we have discussed terms of endearment.” He likes to hear her say it, but he is aware he should not.   

“I’m sorry,  swe - Spock. I forget sometimes.” She smiles at him then. “I’m only human, you know.”  Her eyes are twinkling in a way that he knows is indicative of teasing.   

“I am aware, mother.” Even if he could forget it, every day brings another reminder. “ My mental discipline is excellent. I have undertaken extensive extra study to ensure it is so.”    

“I know, Spock. Your tutors are very pleased with you.” She looks at him proudly. “And you are still so young.”  

I will be seven in fifteen days. Then I will be bonded to T'Pring I am old enough to share mental bonds.”    

Yes, but T'Pring is Vulcan –”  

There may be another reason for her refusal. One that he does not want to contemplate. He raises his chin and says, in a voice which is admirably steady, “We need not attempt a bond if the prospect displeases you.”  

Her face creases in distress. “Oh Spock, of course it doesn’t displease –"  

He says quickly, “A low - level meld would suffice to see if  our minds are compatible.”    

I’m sure that’s true, but  perhaps it would be better to wait until your father comes home.” He knows as well as she does that Sarek will discourage the notion, as he has done before

He presses the point. “We could try a very simple exercise. Communication of a single thought.”

It is an exercise that small Vulcan children can master. He is sure they will be able to do it. And if they are successful, perhaps they can try more.   

“Oh, Spock, I don’t know - “  

Please, mother.” He looks up at her pleadingly, dark eyes wide.   

She sighs, and he almost smiles, but catches himself in time.   

“Alright. One thought. But if you are even slightly worried, darling, we stop straight away, okay?”  

He is excited enough to let the endearment go. “Yes, mother.”  

They sit on chairs opposite each other next to the kitchen table.   

She folds her hands in her lap. “What do we do?”  

He says seriously, “You must hold one thought in your mind, very clearly. Try to block out all other extraneous thoughts. It will be difficult for you as your mind, being human, will be undisciplined, but do your best.”  

She bites her lip, and for a moment he thinks she will laugh, but then her face relaxes and she says calmly, "I can do that.”  

He says earnestly, “I will touch your mind, and read the thought, then break the connection. Are you prepared?”  

She nods. “I’m ready.” Her face is serious now, but her eyes are warm.   

He reaches across the narrow space between them and presses his small fingers gently against her face. “My mind to you mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.”  

For a moment, there is nothing. He reminds himself that his mother will not know even the basic concepts of reaching for another mind, so drops his shields, and reaches towards her mental  presence. He senses her gentle thought immediately.   

I love you.   

And then behind the thought, with a force and  vehemence he could not have imagined, the feeling He realises, too late, that he has badly miscalculated Whilst accounting for his mother’s lack of psychic ability, he has also assumed that her mind will not be capable of strength. In that, it seems, he is entirely wrong.   

It comes at him in a fierce, all consuming, enveloping wave of emotionIt is as gentle as a summer breeze and as terrifying as the strongest desert storm. It overwhelms his inadequate mental defences. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou It is wonderful, and powerful, and far, far too much.   

He pulls away from her with a cry.  Her eyes snap open and she looks at him in alarm,  then reaches out to catch him before he can fall from the chair.   

He shies away from her touch, stumbling and righting himself.   

“Too much. It is too much. You shouldn’t.” He is almost shouting at her in his distress and she reaches for him again.  

”Spock!”  

He hurls at her, “It is not Vulcan! ” His last sight before he runs from the room is her stricken face.  

They do not speak of it again.  

Spock walked unsteadily down the corridors of the Enterprise. His sight was beginning to blur. For a brief moment he wondered if it was a symptom of the disease unique to Vulcans, then to his horror he realized that he was beginning to cry. He was losing control. He was-  

I love you.   

He tried to regulate his breathing. Gather his fractured control. He could not allow himself to be seen in this state. He looked around through rapidly blurring eyes. The door to the briefing room was close by. In the current circumstances it would not be in use. He staggered inside.  

In his head he began to run through exercises from his childhood. Basic mental techniques to ground himself. When they failed he began mathematical exercises. But their complexity eluded him. He sank into a chair. 

Same day. 23:56,  ship’s time.   

James Kirk sat in his quarters, tapping a stylus lightly against the desk, and waiting.   

He’d addressed the crew, assuring them that no-one would be put on report for their actions under the influence of the Psi 2000 water – a stipulation he imagined Lieutenant Riley was particularly pleased about. He’d signed off on the work to put the Enterprise back to rights, finished his report on the incident, and even found time to eat. Now it was late and he was still sitting at his desk. Waiting.  

He hadn’t even been consciously aware that he was waiting. Until time passed, he finished his work, sat for a bit longer, and his first officer didn’t appear.  

They didn’t have an appointment as such. But it would be fair to say that they had a pattern. On more occasions than not, especially on days that had been – challenging in some way, Spock would come to his quarters in the evening and they’d finish their reports together. Or discuss the day, identifying improvement for the future. Or play chess. Or just….talk.  

It didn’t always happen. Spock had his science officer role which kept him in the lab much of the time when he wasn’t on the bridge. Kirk himself frequently spent his  time not on the bridge in the various ship’s departments, guiding and getting an overview of their work.   

But often, however late it was, they would find themselves in each other’s company after times like this. A time when they’d come frighteningly close to losing the Enterprise.  

But now it was well into ship's night. And no Spock.  

Kirk frowned, looking at the chrono. It was late, but he and Spock didn’t tend to stand on ceremony with each other. Of course, the fact that his first officer wasn’t here already might be an indication that he didn’t want to discuss the day’s events. In which case, his captain should respect that.  

Kirk tapped the stylus. He didn’t feel the need to discuss it on his own behalf. He was already well aware of the price exacted by the captaincy and the fact that he'd talked about it whilst under the influence of the water wasn’t a surprise. He was just glad that only Spock had been there to hear the thoughts that sometimes haunted his sleepless nights.  

As to what Spock had said – he turned the stylus in his hand. He had done what he had to do. The Enterprise was safe. But part of him regretted that it had meant his only possible response to Spock’s obvious emotion had been to effectively ignore it. Seeing his stoic, logical first officer in such distress had been unsettling, and not just because of the situation. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he relied on Spock to not have those reactions. To always be his logical foil, his unemotional rock. He had always intuited that Spock’s lack of overt emotional responses was a choice, rather than a fact, and that his first officer’s true feelings ran deep. He had just never expected to have it demonstrated in such a brutal way.  

To know how deep those feelings ran, and how hard Spock must have to work to suppress them, gave him a new respect for his first officer.   

When I feel friendship for you – I am ashamed.   

Kirk sighed, and threw the stylus onto his desk. That hadn’t been easy to hear, even if it was confirmation that Spock did think of him as a friend. Did have affection for him. Even against the wishes of his Vulcan nature. Even knowing that his people would not approve. He only hoped that Spock realized that – however his Vulcan half felt - his human friend didn’t think that way. It was this thought, more than anything, that drove him to his feet, and towards the door. He couldn’t stand the idea that Spock might be avoiding him on the suspicion that his Captain might somehow think less of him. Even if there was the slightest chance that that was true, he needed to set him straight.   

He walked the few steps along the corridor to Spock’s quarters and activated the chime. As he waited, it occurred to him that in all the months they’d served together, he’d never actually seen Spock’s quarters. The thought made him a little ashamed of himself.  

Spock’s voice called, “Enter” and Jim stepped inside.  

The first thing that struck him was the temperature. Spock’s quarters, a few degrees hotter than the rest of the Enterprise, were pleasantly warm. Almost cosy. The second thing to call itself to his attention was the lighting. It had never occurred to him before to think of the rest of the Enterprise’s lighting as cold, but the comparison with the dimmer, more intimate lighting in Spock’s quarters was stark. The décor was significantly more homely than he had expected. He thought with affection that this room reflected Spock’s inner self far more than it did his logical exterior.  

His first officer had just risen from the floor, and was out of uniform. As he stood, a long, dark robe of some rich and tactile material fell gracefully into place around his slim form. Kirk felt suddenly and unexpectedly overdressed in his uniform.  

He said, “Spock, I’m sorry to disturb you so late, I -” His mind ran quickly through any number of legitimate excuses he could have for needing to speak to his first officer. Then settled for the truth. “I wanted to see if you were alright. I know you said you were earlier, but – well, that was earlier.”  

Spock’s hands were hidden by the folds of his robe. He said, “I am well, Captain, thank you for your concern.”  

Kirk nodded. “Good. That’s good.”  

Silence descended.  

Spock gestured to the visitors chair at his desk, said, “May I offer you a drink, Cap-" at the same moment as Kirk said, “Spock, look, I just wanted to -” 

They both stopped. Kirk shot his first officer a half smile as Spock blinked.  

Kirk said, “Thanks, I’ll have whatever -” as Spock said, “There is no need to -” 

They both stopped again. Kirk looked at the floor and huffed a laugh, before looking up and pointing to the chair. “I’m just gonna sit. Any drink would be great.” 

Spock bowed his head, before crossing to the shelves and retrieving an ornate decanter. Kirk regarded it with curiosity. The liquid within was an exotic shade of deep, opaque purple.  

Spock poured a glass and handed it to Kirk as he said, in answer to his look, “It is a Vulcan beverage designed to promote mental clarity and physical relaxation.” 

Kirk eyed the small glass. “I may need more.” 

Spock gave him a look that Jim recognised as tolerant amusement, so like his normal demeanour that Kirk was gladdened to see it.  

Spock said mildly, “I would suggest you try it, Captain, before committing to more.”  

Eyeing his first officer, Kirk sipped the drink. For a split second he thought his mouth was on fire, then the initial alarming spiciness dissolved into a warm and pleasant aftertaste. He stared at the glass in confusion. Some or all of his reactions must have shown on his face, as Spock looked quietly entertained.  

He cleared his throat, said, “That’s, actually, not bad. Quite nice.” He ventured another sip. Now he was ready for the initial hit of spice it wasn’t so acute, and the warmth that followed was improved with further exposure.  

Spock had poured his own drink, and they'd both got through half a glass before Kirk said, “Were you meditating? I’m sorry for interrupting.” 

Spock shook his head. “You did not. I – was finding it more difficult this evening than usual so I extended the time. But I had finished.” 

Kirk nodded. “Tough day.” 

There was a pause before Spock said quietly, “Yes.” 

After a moment, Kirk said, “Spock, I -” at the same moment as Spock said, “ Jim, I-” 

They stopped and stared at each other. Kirk laughed. “Okay, let’s do this. I’ll drink, you talk. Then we’ll swap.” He raised his glass. “Go.” 

Spock said, “Jim, I wished to apologise for -” 

Kirk almost choked on his drink with the effort to interrupt. “No, no. No apologies. Everyone gets a pass for today. Even you. God, especially you. I mean, if I can forgive Riley, then -” He spread his hands expressively. “And I have to tell you, I didn’t want to forgive Riley. I think if I ever hear that song again, I might just seek him out and punch him retrospectively.”  

Spock looked troubled. “Jim. I assaulted you. And by my inaction, I almost doomed the ship.” 

“Okay, well yes, but you only hit me after I hit you – how many times?” 

“Five.” 

Kirk stared at him in consternation. “Five? Really?” 

“Yes.” 

Kirk cleared his throat. “Well, that’s adequate provocation in anyone’s book. And then you pulled it together and did in less than three minutes a calculation that would have taken Scotty and I working together the best part of twenty. You pulled off a miracle and saved the ship. So: no apologies. Okay?” 

“Yes, Captain.” 

“That wasn’t an – never mind, I’ll take it.” He sipped his drink again, watching Spock expectantly. When he didn’t speak again, Kirk said, “Was there – anything else you wanted to say?” 

Spock said, a little hesitantly, “There was not.” 

Kirk set his drink down. “Okay. My turn then.” He took a breath. “I guess I just wanted to remind you - that I’m human.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow in confusion. “I am – well aware of that, Captain.” 

“Good. And as such, I’m pretty tolerant of -” he paused, seeking the right words, “- what I suppose Vulcans might consider – excessive displays of emotion. I realise that circumstances might have made it look otherwise, and I know I said no apologies, but - I am sorry for that.” He paused, ran a hand through his hair, and added, “Spock, I what I’m trying to say – pretty badly – is that I’m here for you. And not just as your Captain. As your friend. And that I don’t expect anything in return. I wouldn’t ever want anything from you that you aren’t comfortable giving, even friendship. I don’t need you to feel friendship for me, but I do want you to know that – I feel friendship for you. And whatever happens, I think that’s - pretty irrevocable at this point.”  

In the silence that followed, he gave Spock a half smile. When no reply was forthcoming, he said, a little awkwardly, “Well, that was my speech for the evening.” He slapped the desk lightly and stood. “I’ll stop interrupting your night.”  

He moved towards the door, but as he reached it, a voice behind him said quietly, “Jim.” 

He turned. Spock had stood, and was regarding the floor between them with a slight frown. 

Kirk waited.  

Spock said, still in that quiet tone, “Jim. I am Vulcan.”  

Kirk gave a slightly self-conscious laugh. “Well, aren’t we both just stating the obvious tonight.”  

Spock continued as if he hadn’t spoken, speaking quickly but firmly. “And as such I am conditioned to believe that all emotions should be ruled by logic. Should be under the control of the mind at all times. I have struggled with the idea that I have feelings towards you over and above any that may be required by duty. I have denied the fact that I occasionally find myself desirous of your company when there is no logical reason for it. I have ignored a physiological response commensurate with anxiety when your wellbeing is threatened.” He stopped. Took a breath, and looked up. Kirk was staring at him, wide eyed. “I also believe that these states may be – irrevocable. However, I find that, upon reflection, the thought is not -entirely unpleasant.” 

Kirk felt a slow smile begin to spread across his face. In response, Spock’s gaze, which had been as carefully neutral as he’d ever seen it, began to warm. Spock added slowly, “I believe I may have to – as the human expression has it – learn to live with it.” 

Kirk was genuinely smiling now. “I am inordinately pleased to hear that, Mister Spock.” They looked at each other in silence for a few moments.  

Kirk said, suddenly, “Oh, that neck grab thing – you'll have to teach me that.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “The to’tsu’k’hy? I am not aware of any non-Vulcan who has mastered the technique.” 

“Have any tried?” 

Spock blinked. “I - do not know.” 

“Well. We could give it a go. When you’ve got some time.”  

“Indeed.” 

Kirk smiled at him fondly. “Goodnight, Spock.” 

To any outward observer, Spock did not smile back. But Kirk was entirely sure, even in the dim light, that his expression softened.

“Goodnight, Jim.” 

Stardate:  1759.5 /  Terran  calendar: 24th  December, 20:00 hours.  

"Oh come on Jim, it’s Christmas. Everyone’s off duty. Come down to the shuttle bay. Live a little."

Kirk frowned at his CMO. "I damn well hope everyone isn’t off duty. Starfleet doesn’t stop because it’s Christmas, Bones. Only humans celebrate it, remember?"

McCoy pointed at him. "Not true. Lieutenant Ch’Karrak is down there right now, with tinsel ‘round his antennas." Kirk blinked at the mental image of the Enterprise’s bullish and taciturn Andorian security officer adorned with sparkly headgear. 

McCoy was still talking. "So don’t give me that aliens don’t - ohhhh." Realization dawned on his face. "This is about your favorite pointy eared alien, isn’t it? Spock’s not here for Christmas, and you’re sulking."  

Kirk glared at him. "Don’t be ridiculous. I have work to do."

With a turn of speed that frankly Kirk wouldn’t have credited him with, McCoy whipped the padd from in front of his Captain and read the title. "The Wild West: the Epic Saga of the American Frontier, 1800 – 1899." He eyed his friend over the padd. "I suppose this is required reading for starship captains? Actually, don’t answer that, I've seen your approach to landing parties: this doesn’t surprise me at all."

Kirk stood up, took the padd back, grumbled, "I’m entitled to leisure time."

McCoy agreed with enthusiasm. ‘Yes! Exactly, and all I’m saying is, spend it with your crew, who would be delighted to see you celebrate with them, rather than sat in here, on your own."

Kirk sighed. "Bones, I don’t want to kill the mood. Captain turns up, suddenly everyone’s on their best behavior. Hardly conducive to the party atmosphere."

McCoy waved this aside. "Oh hooey, Jim. There’s enough alcoholic punch down there to sink the flagship. After five minutes, no-one will even notice you. Come on. Show your face. Shake hands. Wish your crew Merry Christmas."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "I already did that by giving them permission to use the whole shuttlebay for a party. And turning a blind eye to that lethal punch."

As McCoy opened his mouth again, Kirk groaned. "Okay, Bones, fine. I’ll come. Just for half an hour."

McCoy grinned.  

And so Kirk was sat against the wall of the shuttlebay, watching his crew relax. The atmosphere had dimmed slightly at his entrance although McCoy had, surprisingly, been right – there was a genuine sense that his presence was welcome. He'd given a brief speech about how well the crew had performed since the start of their mission almost eight months to the day, and how proud he was to be their Captain, which had led to more than one person wiping away a tear, which had led to their Captain wondering how much punch had been consumed prior to his arrival. Then he’d told them to enjoy the party, which had earned him a loud cheer. Then he’d had a solid twenty minutes of crewmembers shaking his hand and wishing him Merry Christmas, before he’d tried to slip away and was cornered by McCoy. Now he was on his third punch, and striving to remain unnoticed in the shadows.  

He’d meant to leave after the first drink, but Uhura had appeared out of the crowd and replaced it, and he hadn’t had the heart to refuse that radiant smile. She looked thoroughly in her element. She’d done herself proud with the décor. If he hadn’t known this was the Enterprise’s shuttle bay, he wouldn’t have recognized it. Everything that could have been moved, had been, creating a space for a large dance floor and tables. Everyone who could play an instrument on the Enterprise had been roped into being the band, and were doing a highly respectable job, as far as their Captain’s somewhat unmusical ear was concerned. The shuttles themselves had been shifted to one side and decorated. Including the Columbus, which had had a large Christmas tree daubed on its side in a paint that he sincerely hoped wasn’t permanent.  

The main lighting was off, and illumination was supplied by softly glowing lanterns, and projected starfields, giving the whole space an intimate, appropriately unearthly air. Uhura herself was currently the centre of admiring attention from four different crewmembers, and Kirk watched with amused admiration as she neatly dispatched the three men, and led Scotty’s beautiful third engineer, Charlott Hawkins, to the dancefloor. Even as her Captain, he’d still taken about five minutes to figure out who the attractive blonde woman with Uhura was, since he’d never seen Hawkins in anything other than engineering overalls, looking like she’d just crawled out from under said engines.  

The dance was a slow one, and people, driven by punch, and the lateness of the hour, had begun to pair off. He made a mental note that the rumour about one of Spock’s young scientists, Carla Noble, and Darren’s hard-as-nails deputy head of security, was clearly true, as the young couple swayed past him, and the man that Kirk had seen stare down rabid alien beasts gazed at her in overwhelmed, besotted admiration. He hid his smile behind another sip of punch.  

Couples swirled slowly in front of him, and he began to feel a kind of melancholy settle in his chest. It had been there, on and off, since that damned Psi 2000 water. He had his lady, who meant more to him than anything, but he couldn’t dance with her. Couldn’t talk with her. Couldn’t hold her in his arms. Ahead of him, through the dancing pairs, he caught sight of straight, sleek dark hair and science blues at the far side of the dancefloor, and his heart gave a hopeful leap before the dancers cleared further, and he realised that the person with their back to him had longer hair, was too slim, and unmistakably female.  

He slumped back into his chair and knocked back the rest of the punch in his hand. In front of him, Lieutenants Jacob Reynolds (medical, came with McCoy’s team, his mind supplied helpfully), and Reese Sanders (science, Spock speaks highly of him) had stopped dancing entirely, their dark and blonde heads catching the light as Uhura’s soft lanterns revolved. His mind noted dully that they made a handsome couple. He saw them lean together for a lingering kiss with an emotion that felt a lot like jealousy. He looked down at his empty glass to give them some privacy in their darkened corner. Four hundred people on his ship and no-one to dance with. He’d had enough to drink. Time to go.  

A voice at his side said, "Captain. I hope you’re having a good time."

He squinted up at the woman he’d seen on the opposite side of the dance floor. Close up, she was strikingly beautiful, dark haired, dark eyed, slim faced, with pronounced cheekbones. And smiling at him.  

He said, after a brief struggle to stand – how much have I had? - "It’s Doctor Noel, isn’t it? You’re in Doctor McCoy’s team."

Her smile widened. "It’s Helen, please, Captain. And yes, I am." 

"It’s good to meet you, Helen." She was standing really quite close. She needed to really, the music and talking was fairly loud, but it meant he could see how dark her eyes were. And how intently she was watching him. He said impulsively, "Call me Jim, please."

She laid her hand on his arm with a radiant smile. "Jim. Would you like to dance?"

He hadn’t danced in years, but it didn’t matter. She was a lovely dancer, light and elegant in his arms. He felt some of the melancholy begin to lift. They talked about the ship, and the stars. Uhura’s projected starfield was reflected in her eyes, and moved like lit freckles across her face. He touched her cheek gently, naming the constellations as they passed.  

She laughed lightly. "Those are Earth constellations." 

He smiled back. "They are. Specifically, American, northern hemisphere, winter constellations. The stars you can see from, say, San Francisco on a clear, cold winter’s night."  

She had slipped her arms around his neck. "Oh, that’s lovely. How clever of Nyota."

Kirk became aware, suddenly, that the music they were dancing to had stopped. And that they were off the dancefloor entirely, away in the shadows, almost entirely alone. The moment hung between them. She gazed up at him, waiting, hopeful, and he realized that he could kiss her, if he wanted. And for a few seconds, he did want. Wanted to stop feeling alone in a room of three hundred people.  

But he couldn’t. Because she was part of his crew, and this had gone far enough already. He swallowed, said gently, "Helen, I - "

A voice called roughly, "Jim! You're still here!" McCoy had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Noel drew away. "I thought you’d be long gone by n – oh, hello Helen."

Her greeting was slightly less effusive. "Hello, Leonard."  

McCoy turned back to Kirk, patted him happily on the arm. Kirk smiled at him in relief, and noted with wry amusement that his CMO was more than three sheets to the wind. "This is very good, Jim, you being shociable. I’d’ve expected you to be back in your quarters playing chessh by now." 

"Bones, I can’t play chess on my own, how much have you had?" He threw Helen a look of conspiratorial amusement and she gave him a thin smile in return.  

McCoy said, frowning, "Not on your own. With – with Shpock."

"He’s not back yet, we had this conversation -"

"Yesh he is, he’s -" McCoy turned around vaguely, "He was here. Gone now."

"Spock’s back?" 

"I just said that. Looking for you. I said you’d been miserable and gone back to your quarters, so he’s probably there." 

Jim took a step towards the door, stopped, said, "It was lovely to meet you, Doctor Noel." Then left the shuttlebay at what was nearly a run.  

His first stop was his own quarters, but the chess board sat alone and neglected. He’d actually been expecting to see Spock sitting at it, however illogical that was. As he hurried along the corridor to Spock’s quarters he wondered with a sudden pang of concern if Bones had just been drunk and mistaken someone else for his first officer, as he’d almost done himself. 

His heart sank even further as there was no response to his chime at Spock’s quarters. After a second chime went unanswered he trudged back to his own quarters, more disappointed than he was willing to try and rationalize, and cursing his CMO’s drunken imaginings. He wished Bones had just left him be. He’d been fairly content to spend Christmas alone with his book. Now he was spending it drunk, tired, over-emotional, already regretting whatever had nearly happened with Helen Noel, and still alone.  

He threw himself on his bed, and checked the chrono. Ten to midnight, ship’s time. Nearly Christmas Day. He thought suddenly, with a pang of guilt, that he should have booked some time with comms team to call Earth. Speak to his mom. There wouldn’t be any Christmas slots left now. Great. He’d managed to nail being a bad CO and a bad son, all in one night.  

The door chime sounded and he rolled over onto his front, willing them to go away. It clearly wasn’t important, or the bridge would be contacting him. So it was either Bones, ready to nag him back to the party, or – heaven forbid – Helen Noel, and he’d screwed that situation up enough for one night.  

There was definitely a headache beginning to form behind his eyes. What the hell had Uhura put in that punch? He pulled the pillow over his head to block out what little light there was in the room. So he was completely unaware of the door opening, and light footsteps across the floor, until a voice said uncertainly, "Jim?"

He sat upright so quickly the room spun. And steadied into the form of his first officer, looking at him with concern.  

"Spock!"  

He threw himself off the bed before sober thought could intervene and pulled the unresisting Vulcan into a hug. Spock stiffened in surprise, then he felt careful hands graze his back briefly, and fall away uncertainly.

He drew back and said, still holding Spock’s shoulders, smiling in delight, "What are you doing here? I thought you were away until the day after tomorrow?" 

Spock was making what Kirk recognized as a heroically Vulcan effort not to smile back, which just made his own smile even wider. "I requested that my presentation and question and answer session be moved to the first day of the conference, leaving me free to travel back yesterday. I would have been here earlier, but there was a delay catching the shuttle from Starbase thirty-two. Apparently, it is Christmas."

Jim realized suddenly that the room was still swaying slightly, so he pulled the unresisting Vulcan down to sit next to him on the bed. "Bones said he saw you, but I went to your quarters and you weren’t there, so I thought he was just – drunk."

"Upon my return, I attempted to locate you in the shuttlebay but ran into Doctor McCoy who, whilst indeed being somewhat inebriated, managed to communicate to me that you had probably returned to your quarters. So I dropped my research notes off at the lab, then came here."

"Oh, right, your notes – hey, how did the presentation go?" 

"It was well received. I was – complimented on its content."

Kirk grinned at him in delight. "You were complimented? By Vulcans? Spock, that’s brilliant, you must have been a huge hit." 

An odd look passed across his friend’s face that sober Kirk might have ignored in the interests of their mutual pretense that Spock didn’t feel things as deeply as Kirk knew he did, but he’d had three large glasses of Uhura’s lethal punch so he nudged Spock’s arm. "Hey, what’s up?" 

"Jim?" 

He tried to point to Spock’s face, but co-ordination failed him and he ended up gently stabbing him in the cheek with a finger, causing the Vulcan to blink in surprise. "I know that look. Something’s bothered you. Spill, Mister."  

"I was informed after the event that – my father was in the audience."

Kirk stared at him. "He came to hear your presentation? Your presentation for the VSA? Spock, that’s great! I said he had to be proud of you. And he obviously is, he went all that way to hear you. ‘Specially."

Spock said uncertainly, "He may have been there anyway. It may have been a coincidence." 

Kirk gave a derisive snort. "Does he work for the VSA? Is he a scientist?"

"He does not. He is not."

"Then no chance was he there by accident," Kirk said with certainty. "Starbase Thirty-two is way off the beaten track for anyone who’s not going there deliberately and it’s boring. There’s not even a decent barNo-one visits it without a good reason." 

"He - did not speak to me. I was not even aware he had been present." Spock’s face hadn’t changed but his dark eyes looked – hurt.  

Kirk wished he was sober. In lieu of being able to think of the right thing to say, he shuffled along the bed, put an arm around his friend’s shoulder and squeezed his slim form awkwardly.  

A thought occurred, and he frowned. "Spock, – wait - why did you move your slot for your speech? I thought you were opening the final day. And that was – kind of a big deal?" 

Spock said, a little uncomfortably, "When I requested my leave of absence, you appeared to – query the date. I am aware that it is a time to which humans generally attach significance in terms of their familial relations and - friendships. It occurred to me that in that regard, my time would be more appropriately spent – here."   

Kirk had to swallow around a lump in his throat. "I'm glad you thought that."

"I am also – gratified to be here, Jim."

They looked at each other for a long moment, then Jim said suddenly, "Wait, hold on," he stood, and turned to the chrono. "Eleven-fifty-nine. It’s nearly Christmas. Computer, show security feed from the shuttlebay." They moved to the monitor as it lit up with a view of the party in progress, only now everyone had crowded onto the dance floor. As they watched, a countdown began, over three hundred voices in unison. "Ten. Nine. -" The sound came through the monitor, but Jim was vaguely surprised they couldn’t hear it through the decks. They both watched as the time ticked over to midnight. On ‘one’, the screen went merrily crazy, as people cheered and whooped and hugged and laughed.  

Kirk found himself laughing along with his crew. At his side, he could feel Spock’s warmth as he leaned close to see the screen. He couldn’t remember a Christmas when he’d felt more content.

He looked across to see Spock had stopped watching the screen, and was watching his Captain. He said happily, "Merry Christmas, Spock."

Spock’s face softened. "Merry Christmas, Jim."

He nudged his first officer’s shoulder with his own. "Hey, wanna play some chess?"

Spock’s gaze was fond. "Jim, I believe you to be at least mildly inebriated. The game may be – short." 

"You’re scared of my crazy chess stratagems being improved by alcohol." He nodded. "I get it. Worried your lead in the game tally is going to be short-lived."

Spock raised an eyebrow, then said, with exaggerated neutrality, "Yes, Jim. You have precisely identified my concern. In fact, I request that this game not be included in the overall tally."

"Okay, Spock." Jim gave a sigh of long-suffering patience, and patted his first officer on the back. "I’ll agree to that on this occasion. Wouldn’t want you to get discouraged."

Spock’s eyes seemed to glitter with amusement in the dim light. "Thank you, Jim."

They moved to the board. 

Notes:

I've spent a fortnight poking at this chapter, and I'm still not happy with it, but I'm posting because I've got a tough day at work tomorrow and I'm hoping that someone might read this and say nice things which would cheer me up no end. Please? :)

Next time: Romance! Kirk officiates his first wedding and Chapel finds her fiancee. Helen Noel gets a chance to retcon Christmas, and we are introduced to the Vulcan mind meld.

On the one year anniversary of the start of their mission, Spock receives some news that threatens to destroy his relationship with Jim.

Chapter 6: A Remembrance of Things Past

Summary:

Hello fellow AO3 K/S lovers. I hope you are keeping well in these strange times. Here is some of my contribution to temporarily distracting you from the weirdness and stress. Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented - not only on this, but on my other K/S fics. I know I'm behind in responding, but I've read them all, and I love you for it. I'm sorry this is taking so long - I stupidly erased two whole chapters of this fic and lost the will with it for a bit! It's not what I hoped for, but here it is anyway xxx

Quick note for the pedants (by which I mean me!): From this point, I’m going to have to start playing fast and loose with stardates. The airdates, filming dates and stardates given in the episodes start to get increasingly contradictory from here on in. Putting the episodes in the order of filming, airing or stardates would contradict at least one of the other two, if not both, so whilst I’m broadly going to keep to airdate and stardate order where possible, sometimes they are so contradictory, I’m just going to go with narrative convenience! The story will be internally consistent, and the dates accurate, but the stardates won’t always agree with those given in the episodes.

Notes:

Scenes set before and after Balance of Terror.
Scenes set during and after What Are Little Girls Made Of?
Scenes set during and after Dagger of the Mind

(Also, if you haven't seen the Discovery short trek Q&A, at least one scene here might come off as ....odd)

Please see the end note for content warning.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rateg City, Romulus, Stardate 48593.16 (Terran Calendar: 6th June, 2371) 

Spock awoke to the biting cold of another Rateg morning. Years in Starfleet had accustomed him to coming to full alertness quickly, but this morning he felt sluggish, and somewhat feverish. As he lay, orienting himself to the new day, his dreams of the night before came back to him. Jim. For the last four nights in succession, as soon as he closed his eyes. Jim. At differing stages in their life together: as a young Captain aboard the original Enterprise, as an Admiral, as an older Captain, and then as the semi-retired officer he had been when he had been sent on the ill-fated maiden voyage of the Enterprise-B. Spock sighed. He had begun to dislike the necessity to wake. The contrast with the warmth and vibrancy of his dreams was – stark.  

The hallucinations, if that was what they had been, had stopped, but the dreams were no less real, no less welcome. However, he finally believed he knew the reason for them. They had started to coalesce around clear periods in his life: specifically, his pon farr. Those times he had shared with Jim. His subconscious was clearly trying to tell him something. Something that his conscious mind could no longer ignore. As the last few decades had passed, the blood fever had become less intense, lacking the fervor and desperate passion of his youth, but the threat to life remained. There was no choice.  

He must return to Vulcan.  

Slowly, carefully, he rose, moved across the narrow confines of his cell, and sat before the small desk. A concealed button on the underside caused a screen and old–fashioned console to rise from its warped surface. He entered his passcodes and identifying biometrics, then entered the co-ordinates and identifying number of the computer terminal he wished to contact, and the access details that would bypass its security. Then he sat back, and waited. The distance from Romulus to Vulcan was immense, even by modern standards of communication, and it was entirely possible, given the unexpected nature of his call, she wasn’t even in her rooms. If she was not, he would have to run the gauntlet of the layers of administration and security which surrounded the temple, and he simply lacked the will to try. It was, after all, only a courtesy call to an old friend.  

A change in the readout let him know that connection to that distant terminal had been established. A small readout in the corner of his screen told him the local time at the destination of his call. He frowned slightly. It was later than he had realized. She would, in all probability, be asleep. Or in meditation. His calculations had been inaccurate. He reached quickly to terminate the call, but before he could do so, the screen flickered to life.  

Her image appeared, and he experienced a measure of relief. She was still wearing her daily robes, and general demeanor and mild expression did not indicate a recent unwelcome awakening. She said quietly, “This is T’Sha’al.” 

He said quickly, in formal Vulcan, “High Priestess T’Sha’al. Forgive my temerity in contacting you directly without prior notification. I wished to inform you that - “ 

He saw the moment his voice reached her. Her face, which had been holding an expression of polite, if distant, formality, relaxed instantly into a small, but genuine – and even after all these years, still slightly surprising – smile.  

“Spock! This is a surprise. It is pleasing to hear your voice once more.” 

He reflected, not for the first time, that for someone who had spent relatively little time amongst humans, her reactions were sometimes closer to human than the epitome of Vulcaness that she represented. He was also aware that this aspect of Vulcan’s revered High Priestess was one that very few people saw. He felt again the privilege of his position, and said, with real sincerity. “As it is to hear yours, T’Sha’al.” 

She said, “We are due to meet in – a month, is it not?” 

She had clearly kept a better mental track on the passage of time since their last meeting than he had. The thought was not a surprise, although it was slightly embarrassing.  

He said quickly, “I would never presume that to be the case.” 

Her smile warmed. “I know. So yet again I have presumed for you. It is quite the habit of mine.” 

For the first time in many months, Spock felt the desire to smile back. It was an odd, if not entirely unwelcome, sensation. “I am honored, High Priestess.” He knew she would raise an objection to his use of her title, so he continued, before she could do so.  

“But I have decided -” He paused.  

Saying it out loud would give the thought a mortal reality, an irrevocable permanence, that it had so far lacked. Across the light years, T’Sha’al waited patiently for him to finish. To his eyes, she seemed to have aged not a day since he had last seen her in person, almost seven years previously. The years, he thought tiredly, had not been so kind to him. To all outward appearances, she had grown more reserved and formal as her responsibilities had increased, but in private, Spock had observed very little change. In his mind’s eye he saw her suddenly as he had first seen her, Jim at his side, as she had stood on the transporter pad of the Enterprise with her sister. That had been more than a century ago. It was time. It was more than time.  

He took a breath. “I will be returning to Vulcan. But not to the temple.” 

Her face lightened. “Spock, you have a partner? That is excellent news.” 

He said quietly, but firmly, “I do not.”  

They sat in silence for a long moment. Outside, he could hear the biting wind against the walls of his cell.  She said slowly, all trace of good humor gone, “I know that you would not have arrived at this decision without a great deal of consideration. But – is there nothing I can say to change your mind? Perhaps if you were to simply visit the temple, we could -’. 

“T’sha’al.” She stopped. He said, before logical thought could intervene, “I am conscious of owing you a debt it has never been within my gift to repay. I cannot adequately express - “ 

She had lowered her gaze, but now she raised it again, and her expression was every inch the embodiment of Vulcan discipline. She said, “Where?” 

“I had planned to make arrangements at my family home-” 

She nodded. “I will make the arrangements. Inform the temple of your arrival time and I will meet you there.” 

He said firmly, “I had not anticipated any company -” 

“Have you forgotten, son of Sarek, to whom you are speaking?” Her tone was lighter, and her expression neutral, but the certainty in her voice was that of someone used to immediate obedience.  

Spock drew a breath. He had planned to be alone. It would have been easier that way. But he knew T’Sha’al well enough to know that she would not attempt to sway his resolve, and something in his chest had loosened at the thought of a friend being there.  

He said, “High Priestess, you must have other duties, other demands -” 

She said with certainty, “T’Lana will stand in for me. T’Rena will be here. I will not be gainsaid on this, Spock.” 

He said, huskily, “I am - grateful, T’Sha’al.”  

She drew a long breath. “I cannot say the thought pleases me, but I would not be elsewhere. I -” Her voice wavered, and she broke off. She turned from the screen, and he could no longer see her face. When she turned back, her expression was entirely neutral. She said evenly, “No gratitude is necessary for the performance of my duty.” 

Spock paused. This was not her duty. They both knew it. He wondered if a High Priestess in the history of all Vulcan had personally attended the death of a disgraced former ambassador.  

He said simply, “Thank you, T’Sha’al.”  

She nodded. “When your arrival time is confirmed, relay it to the temple.” She seemed about to say something else, but settled for, “I will await your arrival.” The screen blinked off.  

Spock sat back in his chair. The decision was made. All he had to do now was arrange passage to Vulcan. 

In her small rooms in the eaves of the temple, T’Sha’al stared at the blank screen, waiting for her emotional equilibrium to return. The High Priestess was entitled to much larger rooms, in the centre of the temple complex, but T’Sha’al had lived in these rooms for most of her life, and had no desire to move now. A familiar presence called itself to her attention a few moments before a knock sounded at her door.  

She called, “Come in” even as the door swung open and her sister’s face, narrowly disguising her concern, appeared round the door. At the sight of T’Sha’al, she pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing the door behind her and coming to sit in her usual chair at the side of T’Sha’al’s desk.  

T’Rena said, without preamble, “What is it?” 

T’Sha’al squeezed her sister’s hand, which had come to rest on the desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I had a shock. I wasn’t shielding strongly enough.” 

“You didn’t disturb me. I was only reading. What is it?” 

“Spock just called me.” 

T’Rena looked surprised. “Is it that time? Is he – is he well?” 

“He is as well as could be expected. He is coming to Vulcan.” She felt her sister’s shifting emotions at the thought of seeing her husband’s oldest friend, quickly suppressed, and added. “He is not coming to the temple.”  

She felt the thought process that she herself had followed minutes before, flash through her sister’s mind, and arrive at the only conclusion T’sha’al’s unexpected distress would allow. 

“He is not coming to you.” 

“I will be there, but only to ensure he does not suffer.”  

T’Rena looked across the room, to the window. Behind the pane, stars glittered across a dark Vulcan sky. After a long moment, she looked back to her sister. “I am sorry, T’Sha’al.”  

“I, too, pi’ko’kai.” T’Sha’al took a deep, centering breath. “Kadiith. We must all do as our path requires.” 

T’Sha’al heard, in her sister’s mind, a familiar human voice, years gone, but as present in her sister’s thoughts as the day they had met. She said gently, “T’Rena?” and moved her other hand to enclose her sister’s in both of hers.  

T’Rena said, a little shakily, “He would have wanted - “ she broke off. “Will you meld with me, before you go? He would have wanted Spock to know - “ 

“I will. Of course, I will.”  

USS Enterprise, Stardate 1880.62 (Terran Calendar: 10th January 2266)  

My dear Spock, 

Just a very quick note this time to say yes, your father did attend your lecture at Starbase Thirty-Five! Of course, he tried to pass it off to me as a terribly logical decision based on his quite logical need to know more about the science involved in prolonged deep space exploration. You can imagine how convincing that was. I wish you could have heard him – I know you think he isn’t proud of you, but he so very much is. Even his very best Vulcan reserve couldn’t hide it.  

He is also aware that I am unimpressed that he saw you without me – especially given that he has previously had the temerity to question the frequency of our communication! Needless to say, should another opportunity arise to see you, we will both be in attendance. He has assured me it will be within the year – perhaps some kind of diplomatic escort. I am so pleased to think I might finally get to see your wonderful ship again, and meet your crewmates.  

I’m glad you are getting along so well with Captain Kirk-  I know, I know, it’s not really relevant, and it doesn’t matter to the performance of your duties, but it is so nice to hear you mention him so often -  I do hope I get a chance to meet him.  

Take care of yourself, and write again soon.  

Your mother,  

Amanda 

USS Enterprise, Stardate 1987.94 (Terran Calendar: 25th January, 2266) 

Standing awkwardly near the desk in the Captain’s quarters, Janice Rand shifted her weight to her other foot, and shot a pleading look to Commander Spock, standing at her elbow. The Vulcan caught her eye, and raised an eyebrow almost infinitesimally. Janice bit her lip, and returned her attention across the room, to the Captain, who had just begun again.  

“Okay. How about this.” Kirk cleared his throat. “Since the days of the first wooden vessels, all shipmasters have had one happy privilege. That of uniting two people -”  

Rand made a faint, high pitched noise of distress and turned an imploring look to Spock. The Vulcan drew a breath. “Captain. This is the fifth iteration of this speech we have heard. All were acceptable.” 

Kirk looked up from his padd. “Acceptable? Acceptable isn’t good enough, Spock, this is their wedding day, it’s got to be memorable!” 

“Honestly, Captain,” Rand put in quickly, “It’s great. I mean, if you said all that at my wedding I’d be delighted. Totally thrilled.”  

Kirk looked pleased. “Really?” 

“Oh absolutely.” She nodded emphatically.  

Kirk looked back at his padd. “Great.”  

Rand felt some of the tension drain from her body: next to her, even Spock seemed to slump in relief.  

Kirk carried on, “Let’s just go over it once more.”  

She felt Spock freeze and her face fell.  

At the same moment, the door chime sounded, and Kirk called out, “Come in.” 

As McCoy entered, they both turned to him. Rand called out with enthusiasm, “Doctor McCoy! How lovely to see you!” which overlapped with Spock’s positively effusive, “Ah, Doctor, what excellent timing.”  

McCoy stared at them both in confusion.  

Kirk said, “Bones! Listen to this.” 

Janice said quickly, “Well, if it’s alright with you, sir, I’ll just -” as Spock said, “I believe my presence may be required -” 

Kirk, eyes back on his padd, made a noncommittal hum, and they both fled. As the doors closed, Rand heard McCoy say, “What’s wrong with-” as Kirk began, “Since the days of the first wooden vessels -”  

The doors closed. In the corridor, Janice and Spock exchanged relieved glances before walking swiftly away.  

USS Enterprise, Stardate 1998.16 (Terran Calendar: 26th January, 2266) 

James Kirk approached the ship’s small chapel with a steady stride, nodding tightly to crew members as he passed them, and refusing to allow his shoulders to drop, or his pace to slow. The last thirty-six hours had been some of the longest of his career, and he needed sleep like he needed oxygen, but he had one last duty to complete. He wasn’t going to have to break the news – that task had already been performed by Doctor McCoy – but he needed to say something. Some words of comfort, some acknowledgement of their loss.  

The doors to the chapel drew smoothly apart, she turned to face him, and all the things he had been planning to say died in his throat. Not dying in vain. Dying to save his ship, his crewmates. None of it seemed adequate in the face of her grief.  

As she stood, he took a breath to say – something, anything. Some pathetic ballast against her understandable distress. The future she had planned, hoped for, had been cruelly snatched away. Under his command. By his orders. He deserved to hear whatever she wanted to say to him.  

He braced for it, even as she took three rapid steps to close the distance between them. For a brief moment he thought she would strike him – and this close he would have been unable to prevent it – but instead she threw her arms around him and clung to him like he was her only refuge against a world turned dark. 

He froze for a long moment as she sobbed into his chest, then bought his arms around her, trying to offer what inadequate comfort he could. Against her dark hair, still styled prettily for her wedding day, he said hesitantly, “It never makes any sense. We both have to know that there was a reason.” He didn’t know whether the meagre comfort he offered was for her, or himself.  

Moments passed, then he felt her breathing begin to even out, and she released her grip on him, took a step back, and drew herself upright, almost into parade rest, visibly reaching for their training as a shield against her distress. His heart ached for her.  

She looked him in the eye as she said evenly, “I’ll be alright.” She nodded formally at him, and walked from the chapel.  

He stood in the near silence of the empty room. Even the background hum of the engines of the Enterprise – welcome as it was after the eerie stillness of their standoff with the Romulan ship - provided no comfort. He closed his eyes briefly, and almost swayed with exhaustion. Time to sleep. 

Almost back to his quarters, he spotted a lone figure in the corridor ahead. At least he could take pride in the way his crew had performed. Some of them, particularly well.  

He called quietly, aware that they were well into ship’s night, “Lieutenant.” 

Ahead of him, Uhura turned, and managed a smile, far weaker than her usual. “Captain.” Her eyes were hollow with exhaustion.  

He caught up to her, and stopped, “I wanted to say well done for today. You handled the move to navigation exceptionally, and you still performed your duties at communications, under tremendous pressure. Good work.” 

She smiled again, and it had a little of its usual radiance. “Thank you, sir.” He nodded, and made to move away, as she said, “Captain?” 

He turned back. She said tiredly, but with clear sincerity, “I wanted to say – thank you too. For today. For every day, really, but especially today. It’s - it’s an honor, sir.” 

Kirk blinked rapidly. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. When no response was forthcoming, she nodded, and walked away.  

USS Enterprise, Stardate 2005.08 (Terran Calendar: 27th January, 2266) 

At the sound of the chime, James Kirk looked up from his padd and frowned. The door opened and admitted McCoy who, spotting Kirk behind the desk, immediately crossed the small space and threw himself into the opposite chair.  

“Come in, make yourself comfortable.” Kirk said.  

McCoy leaned back and closed his eyes. “I will, thanks.” 

After a moment, Kirk said, “Is there something I can actually help you with, Doctor, or are you just here to bask in the comfort of my luxurious quarters?” 

McCoy cracked an eye at his surroundings. “You know, I think my quarters might actually be bigger than yours.” 

Kirk nodded. “Probably. I moved.”  

McCoy stared. “To smaller quarters? What for?” 

“Closer to the bridge. I don’t know what pen pushing idiot thought deck nine was the right place for the Captain’s quarters. That’s extra seconds I don’t want to waste in an emergency.”  

McCoy looked like he was barely restraining an eye roll. “And the thought of spending five years in smaller quarters for the sake of a few extra seconds getting to the bridge didn’t put you off at all.” 

Kirk frowned. “It’s a starship, not a vacation spot. None of the accommodations on board are going to get any rave reviews.” 

“You’re not wrong there. If I swung a cat in my quarters I’d brain it on the wall.”  

“Exactly.” Kirk paused. “Bones, not that it isn’t fun to shoot the breeze with you, but - “ he gestured to his desk, liberally strewn with data padds, reports, and recording chips, “if we could maybe get to the point? As this is clearly a professional visit.” 

McCoy looked wounded. “What gave me away?” 

“For a Doctor, you’re terrible at small talk. Let’s have it.” 

McCoy sighed, and sat up straight. “Okay. How’s the weight of command feeling today?” 

It was Kirk’s turn to suppress an eyeroll. “You know, sometimes I wonder if you actually earned that psychology certificate, or if you just had a lucky hand at some late-night medics poker game.” 

McCoy snorted. “You should try being your doctor. Most people appreciate my charming bedside manner and subtle but perceptive eliciting of symptoms. You use it as an excuse to ignore anything you don’t want to answer.”  

“Chances of that working on this occasion?” 

McCoy merely stared.  

Kirk laid his stylus on the desk. After a moment, he said, “I’m okay, Bones.” 

As McCoy opened his mouth, he added quickly, “Really. You think I didn’t come into this knowing there’d be days like yesterday? Everyone questions themselves sometimes. Yesterday was one of the toughest days of my career, I won’t deny it. But I came through. The crew came through. It was a tough test, and I’m proud of them.” 

McCoy said, “And of yourself?” 

Kirk drew a sharp breath. “I lost a man. The other ship was destroyed. There should have been another way.” 

McCoy raised his eyebrows. “That’s a hell of bar you’re setting yourself there, Jim. Do me a favor, and don’t beat yourself up with it.”  

Kirk gave rueful smile. “Doctor’s orders?” 

“Youd better believe it.”  

“Anything else?” 

“I’ve brought your psyche eval forward a few months.” On Kirk’s expression, he said, “Don’t even give that look, Jim Kirk, it’s still well within standard operational cycles, it won’t raise any red flags. You said it yourself, this is a tough cruise. I’m just doing my job.” His expression was set.  

After a moment, Kirk said, “Okay, fine. Fine. At least it gets it over with.” 

McCoy grinned. “That’s the spirit. And speaking of psyche evals, how’s Spock?” 

“Fine, why?” Kirk looked suspicious. “Are you bringing his psyche eval forward too?” 

“Well, I wasn’t,” McCoy said cheerfully, “But since you mention it – I'll tell him it was your idea, shall I?” 

Kirk opened his mouth to protest this interpretation of events, then said thoughtfully, “Actually, it might not be a bad idea. He hasn’t had one since his promotion, has he?” 

“Nope.” 

“And he’s had a few rough days. Finding out the Romulans look exactly like Vulcans can’t have been his happiest day.”  

“I’ll say not.“ McCoy grimaced. “Don’t act like Vulcans though, do they? More’s the pity.” 

Kirk shot him a look. “Careful there, Doctor, that was nearly a compliment to Vulcans.” 

McCoy huffed. “Hardly.”  

Kirk smiled, then it faded. “Thought I might have some trouble there, with Stiles. Why the hell do people even join Starfleet if they’ve got a problem with non-humans?” 

“To be fair to Styles,” McCoy said carefully, “I haven’t noticed him having an issue with any other non-human crew, just Spock.” 

Kirk bristled. “Well, that’s worse -” 

McCoy interrupted, “You’ve got nothing to worry about on that score, Jim. Styles is the President of the Spock fan club now. Practically genuflects when he sees him.”  

Kirk said feelingly, “He had better. I won’t stand for bigotry on my ship.” 

McCoy said cheerfully, “I’d better resign then. I can’t stand most races. That includes humans.”  

“I’d noticed.” Kirk said wryly. “The difference with you is that you’d put your life on the line to save a patient. Any patient. Even your worst enemy.”  

McCoy looked uncomfortable. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far-” 

“I would. I’ve seen it.” Kirk smiled at his friend. “Now, if we’re done?” He gestured again to his desk.  

McCoy stood. “Alright, I’ll leave to you it. Don’t work late. You need to catch up on your sleep. One night won’t do it.” 

“Yes, Doctor.”  

As the door began to close, McCoy called back, “Don’t think I won’t check on you.” 

Kirk smiled at the closed door.  

Planet Exo III, Stardate: 2271.77 (Terran Calendar: 5th March, 2266)

Kirk sprinted out of the research station, and back into the tunnels they had traversed on their way in. He couldn’t risk moving too far from the station – he needed to be close enough for the Enterprise to pick him up, but he’d be damned if he was going to stay there like an obedient lamb to the slaughter. He rounded a rocky outcrop, out of sight of the tunnel beyond, and stopped, breathing hard, straining for the sound of pursuit, the lumbering but inevitable tread of that seemingly invincible android giant.  

He glanced up to the cavern roof, as if it would be possible to look beyond the metres of solid stone, the planet’s atmosphere, and into the space beyond, where the Enterprise waited, oblivious to her Captain’s plight. He hoped he’d done enough, hoped that somehow, by some Vulcan intuition, the existence of which he denied, Spock would know, would simply know, that this was not his Captain. He’d been quick enough to identify a double of Kirk before – would this one, level headed, identical in every physical way – be more convincing? It’s not me, Spock, he thought fervently, it’s not me.  

Behind him, back towards the lab, steady, heavy footsteps sounded, like a slow drumbeat of doom. Kirk’s jaw tightened and he glanced around. Next to him, an outcrop of stone looked to be less firmly attached than its fellows. He kicked at its base. This time, Ruk wasn’t going to find him unarmed.  

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 2273.37 (Terran Calendar: 6th March, 2266) 1am ship's time.  

Uhura looked around the small cabin. Most of the crew on board shared cabins, as was the case on most starships, with single cabins being reserved for senior officers and department heads only. As Head of Communication, her quarters were her own, but Chapel, strictly speaking, should have been sharing. Glancing around, it was clear why she wasn’t - the space was tiny. Nevertheless, she said with concern, “Chris, do you want me to stay? I don’t mind.” 

Chapel made a visible effort to gather herself. "No, honestly, Nyota, I'm fine. I was just being - self indulgent."

Uhura squeezed her arm. "No, you weren't. You're grieving. Any and all reactions are fine."   

Chapel sniffed. “I thought – I thought it was forever, you know? Oh, I knew his work was important to him, but I didn’t mind that – it was important to me too. And we could have worked together. Until he decided he just – didn't need me. I’ve been such an idiot. All these years, I could have been making my own way, instead of supporting Roger – oh, I sound like a bitter, stupid, old woman.” 

Uhura hugged her friend tighter. “No, you don’t. You have every right to be angry. Every right to grieve. But Chris – you have found your own way – you're here, with us. This is where you’re meant to be, I’m sure of it.” 

Chapel drew back and looked at her. “But - my assignment was only ever temporary. I should be leaving when we reach starbase thirty-five.” 

Uhura frowned. “Why?” 

“I thought – we'd have been to the planet by then, and I’d either be leaving to join Roger, or leaving to - go back to Earth.” 

Some of Chapel’s usually perfectly quoiffed hair had fallen out of its careful styling and across her face. Uhura reached out and gently pushed it back behind her ear. “Is that what you want?” 

Christine looked away, biting her lip in thought, as she gave the question its due consideration. Uhura waited. After a few moments, Chapel said, “I - no.” She looked back to Uhura, then said with more certainty. “No, I don’t think it is any more. I like it here. I like the Enterprise. I like my work. And,” she added in a more spirited tone, “goodness knows Doctor McCoy needs someone to look out for him. He’d be working all hours if I didn’t chase him out of sickbay. Nanny Chapel, he called me the other day.”  

Uhura laughed. “Then I think you should talk to him. Ask him if he’d like to keep you on. I think I can already guess his answer.” 

Chapel smiled. “Me too. It’s really the Captain I’ll need to speak to.” Her smile faded and she pressed her lips together nervously. “I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to keep me on, after what happened on the planet.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I wasn’t exactly – crewmember of the year.” 

Uhura squeezed her arm. “You wanted to believe in Roger. Captain Kirk won’t hold that against you. And you came through for him when it mattered. That’s what he’ll remember.” 

Chapel smiled weakly. “I hope so.” She looked at Uhura affectionately. “You don’t just respect him, do you? Captain Kirk. You actually like him.” 

Uhura nodded. “I do. He’s the best I’ve served under. No question. It’s not like he gets everything right, and he can be sharp under stress, but – “ She laid her hand over chest “- his heart is in this, you know? With every one of us. He lives it with every breath – you can tell. You can’t fake passion like that.” 

She stopped, considering. “It’s - I don’t know – sometimes I feel, when I’m on the bridge, and we’re in the middle of something – some alert, or crisis – and he’s giving orders, and Commander Spock is giving him information, and they’re bouncing off each other, and everyone is on top of their game, it just feels electric, like there’s a kind of magic happening – oh, I’m not describing it well.” She sighed. “I just think – this is a special ship. It needs special people to crew it. So you should stay.”  

Chapel, who had been listening intently to every word, her face serious, broke into a smile. Uhura found herself suddenly enveloped in an impulsive hug. Over her shoulder, Chapel’s voice said, “I will. I’ll speak to Len tomorrow. And I’ll beg the Captain if I have to.” 

Uhura squeezed her in excitement, then drew back, smiling, “That’s wonderful. And you won’t have to, I know you won’t. He can spot a good crewmember a lightyear away.” She stood. “This calls for a celebration. Drink?” 

Chapel said wistfully, “I wish there was some alcohol on board – well, apart from the Doctor’s ‘medicinal’ stash” – she caught Uhura’s eye and they both giggled “– I could use a drink right now.“ 

Uhura’s smile grew wider. “Ah. There speaks a woman who hasn’t spent nearly enough time in engineering on this trip.” 

At Christine’s frown of confusion, she laughed again, and pulled her friend upright. “Come on. Let’s drop in on Scotty.” 

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 2557.45 (Terran Calendar: 14th April 2266)

Doctor Leonard McCoy stared across the biobed at the Enterprise's first officer. HIs medical instincts were telling him to call a halt to this. He let another moment go by, then when there was no sign of it ending, he spoke. 

“Spock? Spock, I think you should stop now.”  

Silence.  

“Spock.”  

Then: “Commander.” 

Spock seemed to come to himself with a jolt, pulling away from Van Gelder.  

On the other side of the biobed, McCoy was looking at him with concern. “Spock?” 

After a moment, Spock straightened, visibly gathering his composure. “I am well, Doctor.” 

McCoy narrowed his eyes. “You sure?” 

“Yes. But you were correct, the Captain may be in danger. We must contact the colony urgently.” 

Uhura toggled the switches on her console and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Commander, there’s no response.” 
 
“Keep trying, Lieutenant. Use all channels, and do not desist your attempts until you receive a response. I shall be in the transporter room.” 

Instead of heading directly to the transporter room, Spock returned to his quarters and knelt briefly on his meditation mat. The mind meld with Van Gelder had left him far more shaken then he had been willing to admit to the human doctor. He had never attempted such a thing with a non-Vulcan before, and resolved never to do so again. The human’s mind had been so distressed, so broken, that his own mental strength and equilibrium had been threatened. He would be of little use to his Captain without seeking to center himself. After a few moments, his pulse and breathing began to regulate and he prepared to rise. As he did so, deep in his mind, there was a faint stab of distress. He stopped in confusion. His meditation had been brief, but effective. He would meditate more deeply later and resolve the remaining distress, but for now, it was firmly walled away. So the source of the perturbation had not been his own mind.  

Jim? It could not be. He had no metal link with his Captain. And yet something had called to him in that stab of distress. He rose quickly and almost ran for the transporter room.  

Tantalus Colony, Stardate: 2558.35 (Terran Calendar: 14th April 2266)

James Kirk was lost. His mind was shrinking away from him, frightened by the darkness that his usual strength kept hidden. He was alone. His friends were gone. His ship was gone. There was nothing but the darkness, the emptiness, and the despair. He struggled to remember. There were things. People. Places. They were important. But here – there was nothing. He was alone. They meant nothing. He was alone. They were nothing. He was alone. There was – nothing. He was alone. The darkness was endless and inviting. Oblivion. Escape from the endless, agonising nothing. Escape from – then, suddenly, there was something. A tiny spot of golden warmth. Kirk focused all of his attention onto it. It spoke of his friends, his ship. Of hope, and – Spock?  

The darkness came again. But now he remembered. The darkness was strong, and relentless. But it would not win. He was James Kirk. And his ship was waiting for him.  

USS Enterprise, 1am ship’s time.   

Kirk sat slumped at the end of his bed, resting his head in his hands and willing McCoy to be absent.  

“You’re sure you’re okay? No headaches? Nausea?” 

“Bones, stop fussing. I’m fine.” 

McCoy checked his tricorder screen again, then snapped it shut. “Yeah, because you’ve got no history in the playing the hero department.” 

Kirk shot his friend a look. McCoy sighed. “Fine. I’ll leave you to rest. But any symptoms – any at all, mind you – I want you back in sickbay, stat.” 

“Yes, Doctor.” 

McCoy eyed him suspiciously. “Okay. How’s Spock doing? He’s insisting he’s fine too, but I trust his assessment of his health about as much I trust yours.” 

Kirk looked up in surprise. “Why would there be anything wrong with Spock? He wasn’t injured?” 

“No, he - “ McCoy stopped. “He didn’t tell you?” 

Kirk sat up straight, said sharply, “I’ve barely spoken to him since we got back to the ship. He said he was busy. Tell me what?” 

“He probably is busy.” McCoy looked uncomfortable. 

Kirk stared at him. “Tell. Me. What?” 

McCoy looked guilty. Kirk snapped, “Bones.” 

“He used a Vulcan technique to – I don’t quite know how to describe it – read Van Gelder’s mind, I suppose.” 

“What kind of technique?” 

“I don’t know what it’s called. He just touched Van Gelder’s face, but their minds seemed to connect somehow.  It was – he looked upset. Like, human upset. Not that repressed Vulcan kind of upset. Kept talking about being empty. And lonely.” 

Kirk stared at him. “Spock felt that machine?”  

“Through Van Gelder, but - from what you’ve said – sounds like it, yes.”   

Kirk began to pace. “Why the hell -? Bones, that could have been incredibly dangerous. That was his mind he was risking.” 

“We were concerned about you.” McCoy’s voice rose. “Van Gelder wasn’t making any sense. We needed to know what he knew.”  

Kirk looked at him sharply.  

McCoy swallowed. “And I may have – talked him into it.”

Kirk opened his mouth. McCoy said defensively. “Yes, alright, I know. I didn’t think it would be – like that. And it did tell us what we wanted to know. You were in danger.” 

“I was handling it.”  

“So I heard.” 

Kirk shook his head. “Unnecessary risk.” 

“I disagree. Spock’s fine. You’re fine. Thanks largely to Spock. So whilst I don’t think it’s an experience he’ll be in a hurry to repeat, all’s well that ends well.” 

Kirk glared at him. “I hope you’re right.” He ended for the door of his quarters.  

McCoy looked after him in confusion. “Where are you going? I just told you to rest.” 

“I’m going to check on Spock.” 

McCoy began, “I’ll come - “ 

“No, thank you, Doctor.” Kirk’s tone was sharp. “I think you’ve done enough. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

As Kirk stepped into his quarters, Spock rose from his chair besides the desk and stood in what Kirk’s mind automatically identified as parade rest. Which in itself raised an immediate red flag. It had been months since Spock’s default reaction to his Captain was formality.  

Kirk waved a hand back towards the chair, said quickly, “Just a quick visit. I know you said you were busy. It won’t take long.” He dropped into the chair opposite the desk and after a moment, Spock sat.  

When Kirk didn’t immediately start to speak, he said, “In what way may I be of assistance, Captain?” 

Kirk shifted. “How are you feeling?” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I am well, thank you, Captain.”  

Kirk regarded him steadily for a moment, then said, “I just spoke to McCoy. He told me what you did. In sickbay. That – Vulcan mind reading technique.” He waited. When Spock didn’t respond, Kirk added, “Firstly, well, thank you. For – doing that. Secondly – I need to know – is that – dangerous for you?” 

Spock’s face had gone oddly still, even by Vulcan standards. Kirk said, “Spock -” 

Spock said quietly, “Kash-nohv.” 

“What?” 

“The technique is called Kash-nohv. I believe the standard translation would be: mind meld.” 

The words fell into a sudden and unexpectedly weighty silence.  

Kirk blinked. “Mind meld. Right.” He stopped. “Spock, you know I don’t like to pry into the personal lives of my crew. As long as it doesn’t affect your work, it’s your business. Same goes for anything that might be considered – culturally sensitive. And I’m sure you realise that there might be circumstances in which that technique could be - useful. But McCoy said it seemed like it was – “ he broke off, choosing his words with care, “ -  unsettling for you. Not something you would undertake lightly.” 

“Doctor McCoy was correct. And I am unsure whether the unsettling nature of the meld was to do with my inexperience in conducting the technique with non-Vulcans, or entirely due to the disturbed nature of Van Gelder’s mind. I suspect something of both, but primarily the latter. I believe the technique would be easier with a more stable mind.”  

Kirk nodded. Before he could speak, Spock continued, “I am aware that the telepathy of Vulcans can be a source of discomfort for humans. You may rest assured, Captain, that I would never utilize the technique in any but the most extreme circumstances, and particularly not with you."  

Kirk blinked in surprise. “Spock, I - didn’t think you would. That wasn’t my concern. I just wanted to be sure – it wasn’t dangerous for you."  

“It would not be. In – usual circumstances. My mental technique is extremely sound, and I will conduct further research in the use of the technique with non-Vulcans, in case a similar scenario should arise again.” 

Kirk grimaced. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t. But yes, that would probably be wise.” 

Silence fell again. After a moment, Kirk said, “So- you’re okay?” 

“Yes, Captain.” Spock stared at him across the desk with a face that, even to Kirk, was pointedly unreadable. Kirk sighed. 

“Right. Okay, Spock. As long as you’re fine, I’ll leave you to your night.” He rose, and Spock did likewise. As he crossed to the door, the disappointed feeling that had been niggling at him solidified into a thought, and he turned back.  

“Why not me?” 

“Captain?” 

“You said that you particularly wouldn’t - mind meld – with me. Why not?” 

Spock blinked. “I was attempting to reassure you that I would not try to, for example, extract any classified information from your mind, or elicit any information you would not be comfortable with sharing. In a Vulcan-Vulcan meld, it would not be a concern. However, as a practically psy-null species, humans lack even the basic shielding necessary to conceal such things.” 

Kirk nodded slowly. “Could we be taught?” 

“I - presume so, Captain, yes.” 

“You might be wise to think about how that could done, Mister Spock. Vulcans aren’t the only telepathic species out there – it could be something worth knowing.” 

Without waiting for a reply, he turned, and walked back to his quarters.  

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 2639.97. (Terran Calendar: 25th April 2266) 21.50 ship's time. 

Spock finished his report, shut down his monitor, and checked the chrono. Ten minutes until he had to meet the Captain and Doctor McCoy. Enough time to practice the song Uhura had persuaded him to perform in the rec room at the next opportunity. He had crossed the room and reached his hand to the instrument when the voice that was currently foremost in his mind sounded over the intercom.  

“Bridge to Commander Spock.” Uhura was all business, with no trace of the natural musicality that had been occupying Spock’s thoughts.   

He returned to the desk and activated the intercom. “Spock here.” 

“Commander, I have a personal call for you from Starbase Eleven.” Uhura’s voice took on a faint veneer of confusion. “She said her name was – Number One?” 

Spock blinked in surprise. That was a name he hadn’t heard in over a year. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Patch her through to my quarters.” 

As he sat, the screen flickered into life and her image appeared, a little older than his memories of her, dark hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, her strong features unusually pale. He was momentarily surprised at the emotional reaction her image evoked – he had, he realised quite suddenly, missed her.  

She said, “Spock.” And stopped. For the strangest moment he thought her face might crumple, but she straightened and her expression evened out into what was almost a smile. “It’s -  it’s really good to see you.”  

“I am also gratified to receive your call, Number One.” 

She huffed an almost desperate laugh. “Oh, you haven’t changed. You haven’t changed a bit.” 

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “That is untrue. I have aged one point one five years since you saw me last, and eleven point six eight years since we met.” 

She laughed, more genuinely this time. “You’ll always be Ensign Spock to me.” 

“I would hope not. My performance has improved considerably since then.” 

“I always thought your performance was excellent.” She glanced around, as if ensuring she was not overheard, then sang lightly, “I am the very model of a modern major general, I’ve information vegetable, animal and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, from Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical -’ she arched an expectant eyebrow at him.  

Spock didn’t need to look to know no-one would overhear him, and before his more logical mind could intervene, continued, “I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, -” even as he sang, his brain supplying the words with no effort, despite the decade since he’d even recalled the song in question, he studied her face. She was listening with a genuine smile, but it did little to disguise the paleness of her face, the dark shadows under her eyes, and the overall- emotionality – of her demeanour. His level of concern, already raised since her face had appeared onscreen, ratcheted up a notch. Emotionality was a word he had never associated with Number One. She was the most Vulcan-like human he had ever met. She had taught him that it was possible to be logical, competent, respected and skilled at any endeavour, whilst also remaining open to the possibility of levity. A lesson that his current Captain reinforced with almost every interaction. It was, he reflected suddenly, one of his favourite human qualities.  

As he reached the end of the verse, she joined in again, “In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-General.” As they finished together, she began to laugh again, but the sound descended quickly into a sob, and she covered her face for a beat before swallowing hard and meeting his gaze once more.  

Spock said gently, “Una, what is the source of your distress?” 

She took an unsteady breath. “Spock, I’m so sorry to be the one to - it’s - It’s Chris.” 

Around him, his quarters and the ship began to fade, and the world narrowed to her pale face on the glowing screen. She continued, and her voice was steadier as she relayed facts, “He was on an inspection tour of an old Class J cadet ship. There was an accident. A baffle plate ruptured, he got all the cadets out, but-” the words seemed to choke her. 

Spock said flatly, “The delta radiation. Captain Pike is dead.” 

She shook her head. “No, no, forgive me Chris, it might be better if he was, but he isn’t, he’s - he’s just – trapped.” 

Spock stared, “In the ship?” 

“In his body." Her speech came faster now, some relief in being able to speak to a friend, "He's completely paralysed. All the - the nerves, the ganglions, whatever they are, are just – burnt out. They’ve hooked his wheelchair up to his brainwaves, but that kind of technology is still so experimental, so crude, he can communicate very simple commands: yes, no, but that’s it, they said his brain is actually okay, it just no longer has any control over his body, and Spock, they’re saying they can’t fix it, everyone’s so goddamn sorry all the time, and I can’t do anything.” She halted abruptedly and took a few deep breaths. “I’ve been ordered back to Earth. I’m supposed to be at headquarters, I leave tomorrow. I know the Enterprise is close, I feel terrible just leaving him, I thought - “ she broke off.  

“I will visit Captain Pike as soon as I can.” 

She breathed out. “Thank you. Thank you, Spock.” 

“There is no need to thank me for performing my duty.” 

She gave him a sad smile. “It’s not your duty though, is it? Not anymore.” 

Spock said seriously, “It is a duty - of friendship.” 

She nodded, and looked away, blinking rapidly. They sat in silence for moment, then she looked back. “Spock, I’m sorry – I haven’t said congratulations, have I? The Enterprise has a new Number One, I hear.” 

Spock blinked at the change of topic. “Yes, I have been promoted to First Officer.” He added quietly, “But the Enterprise will only ever have one Number One, and she is not here.” 

She smiled at him then, with such affection that he wondered how he could ever have thought she disdained such things. “But the Enterprise will never have a better First Officer than she has now. He thought -” she grimaced “- he thinks so too, you know. He was - is, dammit - really proud. James Kirk has gone up in his estimation no end.” 

“James Kirk is a fine Captain.”  

She nodded; her expression suddenly fierce. “He’d better be. You deserve no less. The Enterprise deserves no less.” 

Spock said, “And we are, as you would say, in safe hands.” 

“Good. I’m glad. I’m - really glad.” The edges of her composure began to crack and she said quickly, “I’ve got to go – I'm sorry to have contacted you like this - I didn’t want you to hear it over damn subspace gossip or something. It’s not common knowledge yet, but they won’t be able to keep it quiet for long.” 

“Thank you.” Spock said sincerely. “Thank you for your consideration.” 

She looked at him, surprised, “Of course. I - think about the Enterprise all the time. They were good times, weren’t they? I’m glad - she still has you.” She straightened, and her expression formalized. “Goodbye, Commander, safe travels.” 

“Goodbye, Number One. Live long, and prosper” 

He had another glimpse of her sad smile, before the screen blanked.  

Spock sat for a long moment, staring at the empty screen. Captain Pike - Christopher Pike - was paralysed. Injured beyond apparent hope of repair. His first Captain. His friend. A spike of sudden, penetrating grief shot through his chest. He rose abruptly, crossed to his meditation mat, and sank down. He could not hope to be of effective assistance to his former Captain without controlling the emotions that the call had raised in him. He began to regulate his breathing, allowing the emotions and thoughts to arise, be observed, and be released. Grief, anger, sadness, loss -  

S’chn T’gai Spock 

The cool, clear, alien voice sliced through his mind like a crystal shard, spiked and invasive. His eyes flew open, but instead of his quarters, he was faced with a rocky outcrop. He felt the air of an alien world, even as the voice, now behind him spoke again.  

Do not be alarmed. Your assistance is required.   

This view, and that voice, triggered an immediate memory, and Spock knew who he would see even before he turned.  

The Keeper of Talos IV was standing on another rocky outcrop, outlined against the sky.  

Spock glanced around. The illusion was perfect. He said carefully, “You are creating this illusion in my mind. I remain on board the Enterprise.” 

The Keeper inclined his head. 

“For what purpose? And how? The Enterprise is light years from Talos IV.” 

We are familiar with your mind from your previous visit to us. Your own abilities to project thought, whilst poor, are sufficient to make your mind easy to locate and contact, even at distance. As to our purpose....  

Another figure stepped into Spock’s vision. He recognised the woman, Vina.  

She said “Your Captain is in need of our help.” 

Spock felt a brief flash of alarm. “You refer to - Captain Pike?”  

She looked at him in confusion, “There is another?” 

The Keeper seemed to look inwards for a moment, then addressed her. Yes. There is another Captain, with a connection to his mind. He turned to Spock. We have no interest in him.  

Spock nodded, disguising his relief. “And what is your interest in Captain Pike? If memory serves, it was he who could be of use to you, not the other way around.” 

The keeper looked at him with the air of a college professor addressing a promising student being deliberately obtuse.

Our reasoning has already occurred to you. You are aware that our best interests, and those of Christopher Pike, are now aligned. It remains only to bring him to us. To grant him the freedom of which he is now deprived. The preservation of that freedom was the rationale for his former departure. Now his only chance to preserve it lies here.   

Spock nodded slowly. “Assuming I accept what you say, how could I be assured this is also the Captain’s will?” 

The keeper looked to Vina.  

She said simply. “It is not.”

Spock stared at her and she added, “Of course he wishes to come to us, but he refused to engage with us after our initial contact.” 

“Why?” 

The keeper said: For the same reasons that have already occurred to you. The strictures of your people against travel to this planet. He cannot travel alone and anyone aiding him would do so at the risk of their life. He is not prepared to allow anyone to run that risk on his behalf. 

“But you came to me.” 

Your name occurred to him immediately as one who might assist. He forbade us from contacting you.  

Spock raised an eyebrow. “An instruction you have ignored.” 

It was based on illogic and emotion. Two attributes which you do not share.   

“He is, however, correct. The removal of Captain Pike from a secure star base facility to Talos IV will not be – without difficulty.” 

You are resourceful. You will find a way. And we stand ready to assist you. We will contact you again.   

The last thing Spock saw before the planet disappeared was Vina's smile.  

"Spock! Finally!” As he entered the Kirk’s quarters, he was immediately hailed by McCoy. “We thought you’d got lost! The Captain here was ready to send a search party. But fortunately for you, the best part of the day is still ahead.”  

With a flourish, he presented Spock with a suspiciously multicolored beverage in a glass topped with ice and adorned with pungent green leaves. Behind McCoy, a smiling Kirk was leaning against his desk, sipping from the same drink.  

Spock sniffed the beverage curiously. “This is alcohol. Vulcans do not-“ 

“Told you,” Kirk said. He was still smiling behind his glass.  

McCoy looked wounded. “This is not merely alcohol. This is the soul of the south. This is a mint julep.” He grinned encouragingly at Spock.  

As Spock eyed it dubiously. Kirk stood and moved to them. “A toast. To the first year of our mission. May the next be as successful.” 

Spock raised his glass. McCoy toasted and added, “Although slightly less eventful would be fine too.”  

Kirk threw him a glance. “You were only here for half of it.” 

“Damn well feels like I was here for all of it. And then some.”  

Kirk clapped him on the back. “Hang in there, Bones. Only four more years to go.”  

McCoy sighed heavily. “I’m getting another drink.” He crossed to the desk. As McCoy prepared his drink, muttering something about the availability of fresh mint in space, Kirk took a step closer to his first officer.  

“Spock, you okay? You seem a bit - distracted.” 

Spock hesitated for less than a second. “I am well, Captain.”  

“Okay.” Kirk didn’t look entirely convinced. “Well, I’m here if you need anything.”  

“Yes, Captain.” 

“Spock, we’re off duty. Jim. Oh, and I suppose this is as good an opportunity as any for me to say: I told you so.” 

“Jim?” 

Kirk grinned. “Remember that conversation we had last year? The one where you said you didn't think you'd make a good first officer, and I disagreed? I think even you would be forced to agree that I've been conclusively proved right." His grin faded to a genuine smile. His voice quietened as he said, "You're an exceptional officer, Spock. I might not say it much, but don’t think I don’t appreciate how lucky I am to have you. And not just as my first officer. As my friend." 

Spock stared into those brown eyes, so close to his. Relaxed, off-duty, in celebratory mood, James Kirk looked like a man who had achieved his life’s ambition, only to find it even better than he had hoped.  

He felt something tighten in his chest. He would not be responsible for the destruction of Kirk’s dream. And it was even more unthinkable that this life -this extraordinary, vibrant life – be risked for any debt that was his alone.  

Kirk’s smile had faded slightly. He said, "Spock, are you sure you’re okay?"  

Spock found his voice. “I am well, Jim.  I am also - pleased to call you my friend. And know that whatever may occur, I have been, and always shall be, yours.”  

There must have been something unintentionally revealing in his voice. Kirk’s face turned suddenly concerned. He was about to speak when McCoy interrupted with his precisely prepared drink. “Gentlemen! Another toast.” 

After a moment Kirk looked away from Spock, and eyed McCoy doubtfully. ”I’m not sure you should have any more.” 

“Nonsense.” McCoy scoffed. “I’m fine.” He raised his glass. “To friendship.” 

Spock raised his untouched drink and Kirk did likewise, smiling again.  

Their voices echoed around the space.

“To friendship.” 

 *

Notes:

(T/W: some of the opening section could be interpreted as suicidal thoughts. Please don't read if that is upsetting for you. Skip to: USS Enterprise, Stardate 1880.62 (Terran Calendar: 10th January 2266))

Up next: Shakespeare, a shuttle crash, and Spock betrays his current Captain to save his former. (Otherwise known as: canon takes the beautiful friendship they’ve been slowly building and detonates a Chris-Pike-shaped bomb under it.)

Chapter 7: The Sins of the Father

Summary:

Scene set after the Conscience of the King
Scene set after the Galileo Seven
Scenes set during and after the Menagerie, parts 1 and 2.

Notes:

I LOVE the K/S scenes in the Menagerie. This is the post-episode scene that in season one re-watches I most wanted to see. Kirk is so quiet, and very, very controlled throughout the whole thing. He’s clearly deeply hurt and trying to hide it. There’s an almost amused bitterness to his demeanour for much of it – Iike he can’t quite believe that Spock used their closeness to manipulate him so well.

If you haven't seen it lately, their last words (right before the post scene here starts) are:

KIRK: Mister Spock, when you're finished, please come back and see me. I want to talk to you about this regrettable tendency you've been showing lately towards flagrant emotionalism.
SPOCK: I see no reason to insult me, sir. I believe I've been completely logical about the whole affair.

Which, on paper, reads like their usual end of episode jokey banter. But the delivery is:

KIRK: If you think I’m just going to let this go, then you really have lost it. We need to talk. Now.
SPOCK: Jim, I know you’re angry and you have every right to be, but forgive me, please.

Then we get a look at Pike, then back to Kirk and then episode just ends! With Jim completely alone. Urgh, my heart. So I decided to fix it. Um. Kind of.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 2820.49. (Terran Calendar: 20th May 2266) 22.30, ship's time. 

Leonard McCoy leaned back in his chair and heaved a sigh. His report on Anton Karidian, formerly Governor Kodos, was finally complete. Now he needed some food, a drink, and a long sleep. Not necessarily in that order. He was in the middle of talking himself into moving when his office door opened.  

The Enterprise's first officer hovered in his doorway. If it had been anyone else, McCoy would have read his body language as ‘awkward’, but this was Spock, so McCoy filed it under ‘probably a bit tired but doesn't want to admit it" and waved towards the seat opposite.  

“Evening, Spock.” He kept the surprise from his voice. “I wasn’t expecting you, was I?” 

Spock frowned slightly as he stepped into McCoy's office. “How would I know that, Doctor?” 

“I meant – you know what, never mind. What can I do for you?” 

“I apologise for the lateness of the hour-” 

McCoy waved this away. “Don’t worry about it. As you see, still working.” He waited.  

After a moment, Spock said carefully, “As first officer, it is incumbent upon me to concern myself with the welfare of the Captain.” 

McCoy said slowly, “Uh-huh. You and me both.” 

Spock nodded. “Indeed. As such, I wished to elicit your opinion on the Captain’s mental state after the events surrounding the recent death of former Governor Kodos.” 

McCoy sat back and regarded him thoughtfully. “You know, as first officer, you have the right to view the Captain’s psyche evals. And any subsequent notes I might make. With the CMO’s permission, of course.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Only if I believe the Captain’s performance to be impaired, and that he represents in some way a danger to the ship. That is not the case.”  

McCoy nodded, satisfied. “So this isn’t really an official visit then?” 

Spock looked uncomfortable again. “I suppose you could characterize my visit as inspired by – concern for a friend. If you wished to emotionalise a quite legitimate enquiry.” 

McCoy hid his smile with limited success. “Well, you know me, Mister Spock. I’m all about the emotionalising.” 

Spock said dryly, “So I have observed, Doctor.” 

McCoy took a breath. “Look, for what it’s worth, as a fellow friend, I agree with your concern. I think this has brought up some stuff for Jim that he was quite happily not looking at. Ultimately, it might be a good thing. You don’t usually heal past trauma by ignoring it and hoping it goes away. But this is hardly the appropriate time in his life for Jim to be reopening old wounds either. I’m hoping that Karidian’s death will have brought some closure, and that will be enough for now. If not, he knows where I am.”  

“The Captain’s history in seeking assistance in personal matters is....poor.” 

McCoy huffed a laugh. “You noticed that, huh?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Just keep looking out for him, Spock. If Jim doesn’t feel like he needs our help, then it’s all we can do for now.” 

“Very well, Doctor.” 

There was a pause. When Spock made no attempt to move, McCoy said curiously, “Anything else? And you can sit down if you like."

After a moments hesitation, Spock did as he suggested. McCoy regarded him with barely concealed surprise. 

"I find myself confused by one aspect of the Captain's behaviour. I do not wish to bring up a potentially painful subject by raising it with him, but it occurred to me that you might be able to elucidate his motives." 

"As a fellow illogical human, you mean?"

"Your words, Doctor, not mine."

McCoy smiled. "Alright Spock, I'll give it a go. What did you want to know?"

Spock shifted uncomfortably. "I do not habitually make enquiries into the Captain's private affairs." He hesitated. 

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Okay. Given."

"During my acquaintance with Captain Kirk I have not observed him to have a significant interest in any kind of romantic relationship, other than under external influence against his conscious will."

"Also, sadly: given."  

"However, during our most recent encounter with Lenore Karidian, he gave a dangerously unstable individual access to main engineering and the bridge, whilst apparently intending to persue a relationship with her. As a acquaintance of longer standing, are you aware if this is typical of the Captain's behaviour when engaged in the pursuit of a romantic partner?"

McCoy blinked. "Sorry, Spock, are you asking me if the Captain is likely to let strange people on the bridge on a regular basis? I don't need to answer that, surely." 

"Not strange people, Doctor, people in whom he has a romantic interest."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Well, the two aren't mutually exclusive, but no. I don't know many people who can compartmentalise their professional and personal lives as thoroughly as James Kirk. To my certain knowledge, when asked his opinion by a superior officer, he once recommended someone he was dating be demoted. Needless to say, that relationship didn't last." 

Spock nodded. "That is - reassuring."

"Well, not for the person concerned, but I take your point. Spock, I have never, in all my acquaintance with him, known Jim Kirk's professional judgement be compromised by his feelings for someone. That what you wanted to know?"

"Yes, Doctor. Thank you."  

McCoy looked at him for a long moment, then added, "Spock, I can't tell you how Jim felt about Lenore Karidian. You'd have to ask him. I can tell you it was damn convenient that she trusted him for as long as she did, given that he was investigating her father."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting his affection was feigned?"

"No, i'm not saying that." McCoy sighed. "Look, Jim likes to think he can save everyone. And it bothers him when he can't. More than it should. I think if you asked him, he would say he had strong feelings for Lenore Karidian. But as someone who didn't win his psychology qualification in a poker game, I would say at least some of that was self-created due to the convenience of needing her assistance, and what we might inexpertly refer to as his white knight syndrome." On Spock's expression, he added, "I can tell you this for absolute certain: no woman, no person, for that matter, is more important to James Kirk than this ship, and this crew."

Spock said quietly, "I would concur, Doctor." For a moment he looked, McCoy thought with surprise, almost - sad. Then the moment passed. 

He said uncertainly, "Spock? That all you needed?"

Spock seemed to rouse himself from a reverie. 

"Yes. Yes, thank you, Doctor McCoy."

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 2853.85. (Terran calendar: 25th May 2266)

Kirk grinned at his two closest friends across the commissary table.  

McCoy frowned pointedly at him. “Stop smiling like that, I’ll start to think you like us.” 

If anything, Kirk’s smile widened. “I’m glad you’re still here. So sue me.” 

McCoy turned in appeal to Spock. “Back me up here. Say something logical and depressing. Stop the Cheshire Cat over there before he strains a facial muscle.”  

Spock blinked. “It would be highly illogical of me to say anything intended to lower the Captain’s mood. HIs mental health is of the highest importance to this ship and crew. A sentiment with which you should concur, Doctor.” 

“Yeah, Bones.” Kirk’s smile showed no sign of disappearing. “You’re the one who’s always telling me to lighten up. Well, this is me, lightened. You’re both here, Ferris is gone, and all is right with the world.” 

“I changed my mind. I don’t like it the new lighter Jim Kirk. It’s disturbing.” McCoy turned to Spock, “And thanks for the support there, Mister Logic. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting your little fuel burning escapade any time soon either. Logical, my ass.”  

Spock began, “I have explain -” 

Only to be interrupted by Kirk’s, “He saved your life, Bones. A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.”  

McCoy raised an eyebrow, then said archly, “Thank you, Mister Spock.” He rose, and before Spock had a chance to respond, he added, “But the way you two conduct yourselves on away missions, I've no doubt I’ll have the chance to return the favour soon. Now I’m off duty until beta shift tomorrow, so both of you do me a favour and try to stay out of trouble ‘til then.” 

Kirk said, “I was out of trouble, I was on the ship,” to McCoy’s retreating back. On Spock’s expression, he added, “What? I was a paragon of good behaviour.”  

“Commissioner Ferris’s communique to command described you as ‘obstructive, practically insubordinate, and verging on outright rude.' ” 

Kirk frowned, “Only verging on? That man was deaf to subtext.” And laughed at Spock’s expression. Then he rose, clutching his empty plate. “RIght, McCoy’s gone, I’m getting seconds. For once, that wasn’t half bad.” 

Spock was watching his Captain engage in brief conversation with Commander Darren, and was giving the exchange more attention than it required, so he wasn’t aware of the presence behind him until the soft voice said, “Commander?” 

He turned to see Yeoman Mears assaying a somewhat nervous smile.  

“Good day, Yeoman.” When nothing further appeared to be forthcoming, he added, “I trust you are recovering well from yesterday's events?”   

“Oh, er, yes. Sir. I mean, it was a horrible shock, losing Latimer and Gaetano like that, but I’m okay. I’ll be okay. Thank you. Sir.”  

She fell into nervous silence again, so Spock prompted, “Then how may I assist you, Yeoman?” 

She shifted, then said quickly, “I just wanted to say, sir, that I didn’t agree with how Boma spoke to you, sir, and I told him so. Afterwards, I mean. But I didn’t want you to think that he spoke to you like that because, well, he - I mean, he's had a few tough postings, sir. Before the Enterprise, I mean. Got a bit of a bee in his bonnet about senior officers thinking the lower decks are expendable. But he's a good crewman, sir, and I wanted you to know that you're generally thought of very highly, sir. Amongst the crew. The old hands and those of us who are newer. You, and the Captain. And I wanted to say thank you, sir. For - getting us home." She stuttered to a halt. 

Spock regarded her for a moment. He did not habitually concern himself with the opinions of others on his performance. He knew where his strengths lay, and where they did not. And if he had concerns, they were usually waylayed in short order by his Captain, who never hesitated to give credit where it was due. But it would be foolish not to acknowledge that he had felt out of his depth - if only for brief moments - aboard the shuttlecraft. Not with the situation, but with the reactions of his human crewmates. He would have regarded it as a near certainty that he had earned the undying enmity of all aboard - with the possible exception of Doctor McCoy - such was the illogical, emotional nature of humans. But that was not, apparently, the case. Despite living amongst them for almost two decades, humans continued to surprise him. 

Aloud, he said, "Thank you, Yeoman. Was that all you wished to convey?" 

"Er, yes, sir."

"Then you are dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." She scurried away with every appearance of relief. 

Kirk, who had finished his conversation with Commander Darren, looked after her with curiosity as he regained his seat and dug into his second helping. "What was that about?"

"Yeoman Mears wished to reassure me that I am highly thought of amongst the crew."

Kirk nearly choked on his mouthful. "Did she?! Why on earth did she feel you needed reassurance on that point?" 

Spock took a breath. "I am unsure. Humans frequently ascribe emotional motives to me where none exist." 

Kirk swallowed his mouthful and smiled. "I know. Such vivid imaginations we have." He grinned affectionately at his first officer, and in the direction that Mears had exited. "Well, that was kind of her, I suppose."

Kirk watched his first officer out of the corner of his eye as he continued to eat. He’d been planning to have this conversation later, but at the look on Spock’s face, he swallowed, glanced around at the almost empty commissary, then said quietly, “You did good, you know.” 

Spock’s eyes flicked to him immediately, confirming Kirk’s suspicions as to his train of thought. “I lost two crewmen.” 

Kirk nodded. “And saved five. The landing party I sent were down there half the time and I lost a man too.” He set down his fork. “Spock, listen, I’ve read your report. Would I have made exactly the same decisions you made? Maybe not. Does that make you wrong? No. You did what you thought was right, and five people are back on this ship who the odds said should be dead right now. That’s a win, however you got there. Don’t beat yourself up.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I was not ‘beating myself up’ as you term it, Captain. My actions were logical throughout, and therefore I have nothing to reproach myself with at this time.”  

Kirk looked at him keenly for a long moment, then smiled gently. “Okay Spock. Whatever you say.” 

“Captain, I -” 

“You’ll make a good Captain yourself; you know. One day soon. If you want it.” He picked his fork up again and pointed it at his first officer. “No rush, mind, don’t be getting any ideas. I need you here."

A look passed across his first officer's face then, so quickly, Jim almost missed it. He was suddenly strongly reminded of their celebration on the first year anniversary of their mission, and how distracted Spock had been. He lowered his fork and said carefully, "Spock - that was a joke. You know if you wanted me to put a word in for you, at command, I would. I'd miss you like hell - but if it's what you wanted - you're more than capable - "

To his intense relief, Spock shook his head. "No. No, I - I have no desire to leave the Enterprise. Nor serve under any Captain but you, Jim."

Kirk said, "Oh. Good. Okay then." He wondered why that statement didn't feel as reassuring as it sounded.

And why Spock still looked - am I imagining it? - a little sad. 

*  

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 3013.48 (Terran calendar: 16th June 2266)

CHristine Chapel paced anxiously back and forward between Uhura's desk and the divider to her bedroom.

Uhura watched her for a moment longer, then said, "I can’t believe Mister Spock would do anything like this without the very best of reasons."  

Rand, perched on Uhura's chest of drawers, leaning against the divider, thumped her head against it in mute frustration. "You just told us yourself he did it."

"I know he did it." Uhura said patiently. "I just know there must be a good reason for it."  

Chapel stopped pacing and dropped into the chair opposite the desk. "Well I wish he'd tell us what it is. Leonard doesn’t know what's going on either. That's what's worrying me the most. Usually, when it comes to the Captain and Mister Spock, he knows what's going on even before they do. He doesn't hang out on the bridge for fun." Chapel dropped her head in her hands and rubbed her face. "Oh, you should have seen him when he came back to sickbay after ordering Mister Spock’s arrest. I sat him down and made him have a drink but I don’t think he even tasted it. Went straight out to meet the Captain."  

"I hope Commander Spock knows what he’s doing. I just don't understand why he'd -oh, it's all so awful." Rand’s face was stricken. "I’ve never seen the Captain like this. Never. He doesn’t speak to me, he barely interacts with anyone at all unless it’s to issue an order, I don’t think he even slept last night. He’s sharp with people, it's like someone pulled all the person out and just left the officer behind. He’s - devastated. Whatever Commander Spock is up to, he’s not in on it either, I know that."  

"Well, whatever’s going on, he wouldn’t end Mister Spock’s career and convict him." Chapel said with certainty. 

Rand nodded, comforted. "However he feels about all this, he’ll save Spock. They're so close - "  

Uhura stared at them both. “Chris, Jan – he won’t have a choice. If the evidence is true – and we know it is – he can’t go against it. In that room, he’s not a friend, he’s an officer, and a judge.”  

Rand stared back in disbelief. “But he can’t - I mean, they can’t make him, I mean –” she broke off, looking to Chapel, who was staring at Uhura.  

"Ny, are you saying the Captain might have to vote to condemn Mister Spock?"  

Uhura’s face was grim. "The way Mendez is going, it’s the most likely outcome at this point. Scotty said he’s not even listening to the evidence."  

Rand jumped abruptly down from her perch. 

Christine looked at her. "Where are you going?"

"To find the Captain. To see if he needs anything. To check everything in his quarters is as he likes it." Rand set her jaw. "If he’s going to have to do this thing, it’ll be with people around him who care." Without another word, she left Uhura's quarters. 

Chapel looked after her in distress. Uhura leaned forward and took her friend's hand. "It’ll be okay, Chris. I don’t know how yet, but it will, I feel it."  

Chris nodded, and squeezed her hand, before standing in her turn. Uhura stood too. Chapel said, "She’s right. I’m going to find Doctor McCoy. This’ll be eating him up." She took a few steps towards the door, then turned back, pulled Uhura into a sudden hug, then just as quickly released her and walked out. 

USS Enterprise, Stardate 3015.28 (Terran Calendar: 16th June 2266)

Spock placed Captain Pike’s chair gently onto the transporter pad, and turned to the operator on duty. "I will handle the beam out, Lieutenant. Please return momentarily." 

She blinked at him in surprise, then said, "Yes, Mister Spock," before glancing at Pike, and leaving the room.  

Spock waited for the doors to close behind her. Then he knelt carefully on the platform, bringing himself level with his former Captain. He said, keeping his voice as steady as he could, "Captain. It is unlikely that we will meet again."  

He stopped, swallowed, then continued, "I wished to take this opportunity to express - my profound gratitude for the many years in which you acted, not only as my Captain, but as my mentor, and – I venture to hope – as my friend. Your support and often, your patience, allowed me to flourish in a way that I believe would not otherwise have occurred. You knew of my estrangement from my family, and saw fit to also provide - emotional support that I did not think I needed. I was - incorrect. And for that, and many other kindnesses, I shall remain always in your debt."  

He looked into Pike’s ravaged, immobile face. Nothing had changed in that fixed gaze, but moisture had formed at the corners of his eyes. The light on his chair began to flash. Once. Then again. Over and over.  

Spock stepped away, then stopped, watching the light. After a moment, as it continued to brighten and dim, he said, hesitantly, "Captain, do you recall a conversation we once had, about a Vulcan mind technique that allows people in physical contact to sense each other's thoughts? Somewhat in the manner of the Talosians, but less invasive." 

The light blinked once, then stopped.  

Spock said, quietly, "Would you – would you permit me to - " 

The light blinked once.  

Spock stood next to the chair and took a few steadying breaths. He had only tried this on a human once before, and had been surprised at its success. The experience had been – disturbing, but then the mind he had been trying to reach had been disturbed. This, surely, would be easier – the mind of a friend, albeit one who had undergone great trauma – and he would himself be better prepared this time. He had studied the ritual in more depth after the incident with Van Gelder.  

He reached an unsteady hand to the side of Pike’s face, and grounded it against his former Captain’s mottled skin. He repeated the words he had memorised.  

Then suddenly, and all at once, he felt his Captain. Heard that voice, and the rush of emotion that accompanied it was so strong it took all his discipline not to flinch away. Spock! God, Spock, why did you – I can never repay – It was not the calm, steady voice he remembered. This was the voice of a man who had known utter despair, and imagined he would never know anything else, only to be thrown a lifeline of hope. Your career, Spock, your life, I would never have asked you to risk -  

You did not need to ask, I did it freely. Because you were my friend. I - could not have told you so then. I can do so now.   

Pike’s gratitude, his joy, his disbelief that his imprisonment would finally be over, flowed across their connection. Spock shielded as best he could, but the power of it made him feel weak, and wonder how Pike had survived that tumult.  

I was always your friend, Spock, I’m sorry I never said so either. I’m sorry I never realised how – much you felt it. I hope Jim Kirk appreciates how lucky he is. Tell him to look out for you - he felt Pike’s protectiveness, his affection - tell him the fleet captain said so.   

He is – angry with me. I fear he may not forgive me.   

Some of his captain’s old, dry humour seeped into his mental voice. Of course he’s angry with you, Spock. He’s a Captain. You stole his ship. He’d be less annoyed if you’d stolen his body. But I know Jim Kirk. He’s smart, and canny. He’ll know how lucky he is to have you. He’ll get over it. Give him time.    

Captain, I – Somehow the right words wouldn’t come. He felt his own emotion welling up and tried to hide it from Pike. It is time. You must go.   

I know. There was anticipation and joy, mingled with sadness, and loss. Goodbye, Spock. Thank you is wholly inadequate, but – thank you. You will never know what you did for me today. How much it meant. S pock felt Pike steady himself, get a grip on the emotions that threatened to overwhelm them both. His mental voice was stronger when he thought: Do you remember when once we talked about fulfilment in life? I think I talked about career, about purpose. About making a difference. I was wrong, Spock. All that is important, but most of all – find happiness, Spock. Find love. And when you find it, don’t give it up. They are the times that will matter at the end. When all else is taken away. He hesitated, then the mental voice came again. Tell Una - tell her - me too. Always. And goodbye. The depth of emotion that accompanied this request was so dense that Spock shielded from it automatically. 

I shall do so. And I shall heed your advice. Thank you, Captain. It has been an honour.   

Spock pulled his hand gently away from Pike’s skin, felt the warmth fade, the mental voice vanish. He walked unsteadily to the transporter console, and quickly activated the mechanism. He watched as the golden light took his former Captain, stared until every last glimmer had disappeared, then bowed his head over the console, and breathed deeply until he was certain all vestiges of the meld were gone.  

As he straightened, the transporter operator re-entered. He said, "Thank you, Lieutenant." As he stepped towards the door, she said, "Sir?" 

He stopped, turned back to her.  

She said, "It’s being said around the ship, sir, amongst the old hands, those that served with Captain Pike, that you were helping him. That you risked your career to get him here, where they could help him. There are a lot of us still loyal to the Captain, sir, and I know they’d all want to say thank you for that." 

Spock stared. "If there is any gratitude to be apportioned, Lieutenant, it must be given to Captain Kirk. It was entirely his decision to assist Captain Pike."  

She said, "Oh, I thought- " 

Spock said firmly, "Please correct any erroneous assumptions in that regard amongst the crew, and do not indulge in unwarranted discussion on the subject in future. Good day, Lieutenant."  

He stepped quickly from the room, and walked with rapid and precise stride towards the turbolift. As it slowed to its destination, and the doors opened, he walked with less certainty towards the Captain’s quarters, and stopped entirely outside the door. He looked at the name plate attached to it. Captain James T. Kirk. Unbidden, Kirk’s face came to his mind. Smiling at him. Laughing at some innocuous remark. Teasing him. Turning to him for advice, for – how had he put it? - emotional security. He felt a cold hand touch his heart and closed his eyes briefly. He had chosen this path. He had known the risks.  

And this had always been – a risk. What would be, would be. Kirk would forgive him. Or he would not. Christopher Pike was now able to live out his life in freedom, and peace. His debt to his former Captain and friend was paid. His aim had been accomplished. His life was not forfeit. His career was intact. This was the best outcome he could have hoped for. He stared at the closed door. But had he, perhaps, paid a greater price? One he had not, truly, allowed himself to consider? There was no logic now in fear. He touched the door chime.   

Kirk paced his quarters, waiting for Spock. Surely it didn’t take this long to beam one man down to a planet from orbit. But then the time was almost welcome, because he still had no idea what he was going to say. Well, other than – the chime sounded. He almost jumped before catching the reaction and frowning with irritation. He walked over and stood in front of his desk before calling, “Come in.”  

Spock entered, straight and proud, and seemingly unruffled. Just seeing him made something in Kirk's chest ache all over again. He changed his mind about standing, and moved around the desk, sitting down, and lacing his fingers in front of him on its cold surface.  

Spock moved slightly to stand in front of the desk. “You asked to see me, Captain.” His posture was so rigid he was almost at attention. He didn’t sit, and Kirk didn’t offer.  

He said, neutrally, “It’s been a hell of a couple of days, Mister Spock.”  

"Yes, Captain." 

"I wanted you to know, I’m entering an official reprimand on your file." 

"Yes, Captain." 

Kirk waited. "Nothing to say about that?" 

"No, Captain. It is the least that I deserve." 

Kirk said sharply, "Well I can’t argue with you there." 

There was a silence.  

After a moment, Spock said, "Will that be all, Captain?" 

Kirk said in disbelief, "Will that be - " He stopped, took a breath. Then another. "Well since you don’t seem interested in asking, I’ll tell you anyway. Of the many breaches of regulations you’ve committed over the last few days, I can’t let commandeering the Enterprise pass uncensored. Sets a bad example, Mister Spock, I’m sure you understand."  

"Yes, Captain." 

"Yes, Cap – you stole my goddamn ship, Spock." It came out as a shout and he looked down at the surface of his desk. He'd planned to do this all calmly, all matter of fact, all professionalism. Exactly what had got him through the last few days. But it was proving harder than he’d thought.  

Into the tense silence that followed, Spock said, quietly, "Jim, I am sorry."  

Kirk’s head snapped up. "Are you? Because I think you’d do it again tomorrow if you had to."  

"I do not regret that my actions have allowed Captain Pike his freedom at the end of a life of service. I do regret that my actions have – impacted upon you."  

”Impacted upon me," Kirk quoted bitterly. "Well, they certainly did that." 

Spock began, "Jim, I am truly sorry that - "

"Stop it." Kirk stood. Began to pace. "Stop telling me you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it. Were you sorry when you took my voice recordings to falsify the orders? Were you sorry when you listened to me tell Mendez – over and over – that, no, Spock wouldn’t do anything like that, there must be another explanation? Were you sorry when you took my ship? Were you sorry when I had to stand up at a court martial, end your career, and condemn you to death? Were you sorry then?

"Jim, please -" 

"How long had you been planning it? Goddammit, I knew there was something wrong. Was Chris in on it? That must have been fun for you both. I’ve got this new Captain now, he’s way more gullible than you were, Chris, I’ll be able to take the ship from right under his nose. He trusts me implicitly; he’ll never suspect a thing." He took a steadying breath. Spock was staring at him in disbelief.  

Kirk continued, "You asked me – after - after Gary, you asked me to always let you come with me. However risky the path, however uncertain I was. You asked me that, Spock. And I have. I always have. But you didn't let me do the same for you. You didn’t give me the choice."  

"Jim," Spock’s voice was a plea, "You could have died."  

"So could you. Spock, we take that risk every damn day. It was my choice to make!" His energy, his anger, seemed to fade as he said bitterly, "And you didn’t trust me to make it."  

Spock said quickly, "Jim, you are wrong. Entirely wrong. I did not tell you because I believed that you would. That you would be prepared to risk your life for my cause. I could not allow it." 

"Why not, Spock? That’s what I don’t understand. Why not? Would you have let Pike risk it?" 

Spock said, without hesitation, "Yes." 

Kirk stared at him, hurt in every line of his face, until it slowly shuttered away. He said, quietly, "Right. Okay." He nodded, looked down at the floor, then seemed to gather himself and looked back at his first officer. "Right." 

Spock’s neutral facade seemed to tremble before his eyes. He stepped forward, into Kirk’s space, laid a hand on his arm. Kirk stared at him in frozen surprise.  

"Jim, you do not understand. Christopher Pike was my Captain, and my mentor, for eleven years. He was also, I know now, my friend. I did not wish to see him suffer when it was in my power to prevent. But he is not – you. I would have risked his life, in spite of his importance to me." His voice was utterly certain as he said, "But I would not risk yours. I could not be responsible for your death. I was too - afraid to take that risk. I was a coward. And for that, Jim, I am - truly sorry." His voice wavered on the last phrase. "And I ask your forgiveness." 

Kirk was staring at him, eyes wide. For a moment he didn’t react at all, then Spock was pulled into a fierce and wholly unexpected embrace. He breathed in shock over his Captain’s shoulder, felt the warmth of Jim’s body, felt him take one breath, then another. After a long moment, Kirk said roughly, "Never again, Spock, okay?" Spock did not trust himself to speak. Kirk drew back, held him at arm's length. "Spock, do I have your word?" 

"Yes." His voice was hoarse, and he said again, with more certainty, "Yes, Captain."  

Kirk lowered his arms. "Good." He stood uncertainly for a moment, then pulled at his collar. "God, these dress uniforms. It’s like wearing a grater round your neck." He walked over to the desk, loosening his collar. "I’d like to give the person who designed them a piece of my mind."  

He reached down to the desk, shifted a few data padds into an orderly line. "I bet you need to rest. I should let you get to it." He sighed. “I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to tell the crew.”  

Spock began, "I do not req -"  

Kirk looked up.  

Spock said, quickly, "Yes. Thank you, Captain. I shall – retire to my quarters." 

"Okay, Spock. See you on the bridge tomorrow."

"Yes, Captain. Goodnight."

 

Notes:

Quick reader survey (all five of you!): Are there any episodes between here and City On the Edge of Forever that you are desperate to see a post ep scene for? Because I've just finished the Amok Time chapter (all 15,000 words of it) and it's eating me up that I can't share it with you all RIGHT NOW, but I haven't written the chapters before it yet! So I might have to leave some eps out so that we get there faster. I have zero writing chill....

**Update: thank you so much to everyone who commented, you are amazing and I love you for being invested in this! So it looks like the next few chapters will go:

Chapter 8: Shore Leave, Court Martial, Space Seed, This Side of Paradise
Chapter 9: The Devil in the Dark, the City on the Edge of Forever
Chapter 10: Amok Time

At some point I will delete these rambly authors notes so future readers think this was all beautifully planned from the start and not that I was winging it. Although in my defence I often plan things out, then when I start writing my muse looks at the plan and goes, "haha, no."

Chapter 8: Treachery, Faith and Future's Shadow

Summary:

I don’t want to gush, and I’m not usually this self-indulgent (okay, I totally am) but I’ve been doing a lot of gratitude meditation lately, and I wanted to say how much I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read and comment, or leave kudos. It means so much to me. It’s one of the first entries on my ‘list of things to remember when I’m feeling down’. I’ve actually printed off a list of comments, and I read it when I’m sad, or doubting myself, or just wondering what the point is of, well, anything!

Kudos or a comment might seem like such a small thing, but you are reaching out and making someone else’s life a little better, and I can’t think of anything bigger than that right now. Thank you xx

(Oh, and there is a special place in heaven for people who comment on every chapter of a multi-chapter fic. It’s full of happy writers wanting to give you hugs and balloons and cake.)

Notes:

Scenes set during and after Shore Leave
Scenes set during and after Arena
Scene set after Space Seed.
Scenes set during Court Martial
(Yes, the plan I set at the end of the last chapter is already going off the rails.)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Shore Leave Planet, Omicron Delta Region. Stardate: 3006.77 (Terran Calendar: 15th June 2266) Ship’s time: 18.10  

Kirk lay back against the nearest dune. The sand was warm beneath him, and the sun was warm above him. He closed his eyes and listened to the sea. The dunes around hid him from passing sight, and he breathed in the scent of real, unrecycled air in quiet delight, and a silence unbroken except for the waves and the breeze. He had no idea if this idyllic beach was also an illusion, and he didn’t really care. It was real enough to allow tension he hadn’t even known he was holding leach out into the warm sand.  

It had been incredible to see Ruth, but she had been right – their parting, painful as it had been, had ultimately been for the best, leaving them with happy memories of a relationship that had rewarded them both. In reality, of course, she’d never been here, but he nevertheless felt a sense of closure around their time together that he hadn’t experienced before.  

A large bird in spectacular shades of red and burnt orange flew overhead, and he watched it out of sight, shading his eyes, without bothering to raise his head. He regretted, suddenly, that Spock had remained aboard the Enterprise. He would have had some comment to make on the beach, the colourful bird. He sighed to himself. The atmosphere between them was still – a little strained. Not on duty, not so anyone would notice, but certainly in their off-duty time.

On duty, Spock was making a superhuman effort to be the most unimpeachable first officer in the fleet, which was raising that bar to such an extent that Kirk occasionally wondered if anyone would notice if the Captain just didn’t turn up for a few shifts.  

He was resisting the urge to tell Spock to knock it off though, as the Vulcan seemed to feel he still had amends to make, and there was a part of Kirk that agreed with him. But he missed their easy camaraderie, their casual asides, and their chess games. He took a deep breath of the clear air and vowed to speak to Spock at the first opportunity. Invite him to a chess game. Make more of an effort to convey the message that all was okay between them. 

He’d been annoyed at the way Spock had manipulated him into beaming down, but now he was here, he had to admit, the Vulcan had been right. He had been pushing himself too hard. And at least partially out of a stubborn desire not to ask for help from the man who’d stolen his ship. Which, in retrospect, was starting to look a bit petty. And with no Spock to distract him, he’d just taken to ignoring the arbitrary time delineation between 'off duty' and 'on duty'.  Which was probably what had led to him seeking pain relief on the bridge. Hardly appropriate behaviour, in retrospect, although there was a rebellious and slightly disappointed part of his brain that still wanted to know how effective that massage would have been with Vulcan strength behind it.  

He became aware of a blunt corner digging into his side, and reached for his communicator, laying it carefully next to him on the sand, so he’d hear it immediately if needed, and closed his eyes again. He was starting to drift, when his peace was interrupted by a whirring sound with which he was all too familiar. He heaved a mental sigh. Tricorder. Science, not medical. What part of shore leave did his crew not understand? He raised his head and looked in the direction of the sound.  

His first officer was standing back towards the path, examining with rapt attention the bird that Kirk had noticed earlier. The bird itself had perched obediently for scanning purposes, and Kirk thought with dry amusement that whilst the rest of the crew had invented knights, and beaches, and old loves, his science officer had imagined – something to study.  

Then another thought occurred to him and he frowned. Funny co-incidence. That he had been thinking of Spock, only for the man himself to appear mere minutes later without warning, especially as he had clearly announced his intention to stay on the ship. He watched the figure on the path with sudden suspicion. Still, there was an easy way to tell. He sat up, bringing himself further into view, and called, “Spock!” 

His first officer turned, and saw him, and if he had been human, Kirk would have said his face fell. As it was, it just assumed an expression of neutrality, replacing the active interest that had been there before. He snapped his tricorder shut and came towards Kirk. When he was close enough to speak without raising his voice, he said, “Captain. I apologise for disturbing you. I will conduct my research elsewhere.” And turned back towards the path.  

Kirk frowned. If this was the planet’s version of Spock, created to give him a dry run at improving their somewhat strained relationship, this wasn’t a great start. He said, “Wait a sec.” He nodded towards the bird, now preening itself. “What are you researching? I told everyone to take leave. Even you.” 

The Vulcan turned back. “As you are aware, Captain, Vulcans require less rest than humans. And I was intrigued by the technology that allows this planet to produce such exact replicas. It is more advanced than that currently in standard use by Starfleet. I am attempting to ascertain the exact parameters of this improvement, with a view to submitting a paper to Starfleet command around enhancing the existing technology.” 

Kirk looked back towards the bird with renewed interest. “Well, that would certainly be useful. If we could replicate, say, engine components as well as this, it’d mean fewer trips back to starbases. We could go out even further.”   

Spock nodded. “Precisely, Captain.” 

Kirk looked back to him. “Okay, carry on, but - just take a seat first, there was something I wanted to say.”  

Spock hesitated. “If you are sure I am not disturbing you. Doctor McCoy indicated that you were – otherwise engaged.” He glanced around, as if expecting Ruth to leap out from behind the nearest dune. 

Kirk rolled his eyes. “Sit down, Spock.” 

The Vulcan examined the sand around Kirk with care, then selected an appropriate spot, and sat as requested.  

Kirk took a breath. “Right, look, I’ve been thinking about - well, us, actually. I know things have been a bit strained, and that's – Spock, what are you doing?” 

Spock had reopened his tricorder, and was scanning him. “You raise an interesting point, Captain. I had also been thinking of you before I stopped to examine the avian specimen. Therefore, it would be prudent to check, before indulging in unproductive conversation with a replica, that you are indeed James Kirk.”  

The tricorder whirred, and Kirk watched Spock’s face with wry amusement as he examined the readouts. “What’s the news? Am I me?” 

“Apparently so, Captain.” 

“Excellent. Hand it over.” He reached for the tricorder. Spock released it with a raised eyebrow. Kirk repeated the scan that Spock had just run. “How will I know if it isn’t you?” 

Spock leaned across to the screen. “The replication technology is excellent with the non-biological, but lacks depth when replicating lifeforms. There will be insufficient biological components to the scan.” He pointed to the relevant section of the readout, and Kirk nodded. “Well, that looks good. Vulcan and human biological components.” He snapped the tricorder shut and handed it back. “Good news, Mister Spock, you’re you too.”  

“How gratifying, Captain.” Kirk saw amusement in his first officers' eyes, and smiled at him, reflecting it in his own. It was, for a moment, like Talos IV had never happened, and he was glad of it.  

He said, suddenly curious, “What were you thinking? If you don’t mind me asking.”  

Spock raised an eyebrow, “Captain?” 

“You said you were thinking about - me. Before you saw the bird.” He nodded towards the creature, who had settled extravagantly on its branch, and seemed to be perfectly prepared to sit there all day. “Is it real, by the way? The bird.” 

Spock looked a little sheepish. “It is not. It is, in fact, Vulcan in origin. I had been attempting to control the replication process by directing my thoughts.” 

Kirk raised his eyebrows. “Well, good job, one bird on command.” 

“It was meant to be a sehlat.” 

“Ah. I take it that’s not a bird?” 

“It is not.” 

Kirk found himself smiling again. “Well, good try, anyway. I mean, it is Vulcan.” 

After a moment, Spock said, apparently apropos of nothing, “Chess.” 

“What?” 

“I was thinking that – I would like to play chess. With you.” 

Kirk looked across at his first officer, whose eyes were on the sand.  

He said, “Funnily enough, I was thinking that too.” 

Spock looked up and met his eyes. Kirk gave him a lopsided smile. “I think I’m done being mad at you now. I mean, let me be clear: if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll have you drummed out of the ‘fleet myself.” 

“That is - fair, Captain.”  

“Jim.” 

“Captain?” 

“Jim, Spock. You haven’t called me Jim since we left Talos IV.” 

“I – did not wish to presume.” He added quietly, “I felt that I had – forfeited the right.”  

Kirk didn’t immediately contradict this statement. He flexed his hand next to him on the sand, allowing the grains to run through his fingers. A moment passed, then he said, “It wasn’t stealing the ship, you know.” He looked out over the water. “It wasn’t even how easy you made it look. I mean, honestly, I expect that level of efficiency from you.” He shot his first officer a glance and Spock had the grace to look slightly abashed. Kirk looked back over the ocean. “it was – you not trusting me enough to let me in on it. I’d’ve helped. Somehow. Between us, we’d have figured something out.”  

“It was never that I did not trust you. I did. I do. I cannot conceive of a circumstance in which I would not. As soon as I was contacted by the Keeper of Talos IV, my first instinct was to come to you.”  

“But you didn’t.” 

“I found that I could not bear the thought of being responsible for the ending of your career. Although if that had been the only risk, I might have taken it. But your life would also have been forfeit. For me. For my cause. It was – too much to ask. Even at the risk of losing your friendship, it was too much.”  

Kirk looked at him. “And if you had to do it again?” 

Spock said immediately, “Knowing what I know now, of the ultimate reaction of Commodore Mendez, and Starfleet, informing you of the situation in advance would be an acceptable risk.” 

Kirk said, “And if a similar situation were to arise? In which you didn’t know the outcome?” 

“Jim, you cannot ask me to voluntarily put your life at risk.” 

Kirk stared. “You can’t be serious? My life is at risk practically every day.” 

“And my role is to mitigate that risk as best I can and ensure your safety. Not to wilfully endanger your life for my own cause.” 

“And my job is to do the same for the whole crew, Spock, you included. Instead, you put me in a position of having to condemn you to death. How would you have felt? If the tables were turned?” 

“It was to avoid that very situation that I took the action I did.”  

Kirk shook his head. “Not acceptable. I’m the Captain, Spock. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but you need to let me make my own decisions.” 

There was a long silence.  

“I am sorry. You are correct. I allowed my attachment to you to influence my decision-making. I will not allow it to do so in future.” 

Kirk blinked. From anyone else, he might have taken that as a figure of speech, but from Spock? He said, curiously, “Your – attachment to me?”  

In the glow of the waning sun, he couldn’t tell if it was the light, or if Spock actually – blushed.  

He said quietly, “Jim. You must know. Why I could not risk your life. Why I would take any risk, even against your will, to keep you safe.” 

Kirk felt his heart rate kick up. “Spock, I - I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.”  

The Vulcan turned to him and for a moment, all Kirk could see was his human side. Vulnerable, and afraid. He said, concerned, “Spock? What is it?” 

Abruptly, and with no warning, his first officer’s face closed off, and he stood. “My apologies, Captain. I have disturbed you, and overstayed my welcome.” He turned, and almost ran for the path.  

Kirk grabbed for his communicator, and jumped up. “Spock! Wait.” He ran after his first officer’s retreating form. As he did so, the Vulcan bird, disturbed by their unexpected activity, rose from its perch and flew towards him. He jumped to one side to avoid it, and by the time he returned to the path, Spock was nowhere to be seen. Kirk swore to himself and ran down the path the way he had seen Spock go. The path rounded a corner, and split two ways. There was no sign of Spock in either direction.  

He was about to take the left path when a voice hailed him.  

“Jim!”  

He turned. Along the right path, Bones had appeared. He hurried over to his CMO. “Bones, have you seen Spock? He was just ahead of me.” 

McCoy frowned at him. “Spock's on the Enterprise. Listen,” he seized Kirk's arm, and began to steer him back down the path, “You've got to come see this. Scotty's found this bar, it's a proper old-fashioned earth hostelry - you're going to love it. And the best thing is, the alcohol gets you drunk.” 

“Spock was here, I just saw him.” 

McCoy hurried him along. “He's on the bridge. I just spoke to him. I swear, the bourbon tastes just like -” 

“He's not on the bridge, Bones, he's here.” 

McCoy stopped. “No, Jim, he isn't. I spoke to him less than two minutes ago whilst I was looking for you. I contacted the Enterprise to check on Ensign Towen. Uhura's down here, so Spock put me through to sickbay.”  

Jim stared at him. After a moment, he pulled out his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise.” 

The reply was almost instantaneous. “Spock here, Captain.” His voice was entirely level, and completely neutral. There was no sign of the distress that had coloured it only moments before.  

Kirk swallowed, took a breath. “Everything alright up there, Mister Spock?” 

“All is well, Captain. There is nothing to report. I trust your shore leave is proving satisfactory.”  

Kirk rubbed a hand across his forehead. The damn tricorder was a fake too. Aloud, he said, Yes, it's, er, fine.” He forced his voice to take on a lighter tone. “No chance of you joining us down here? Doctor McCoy was about to introduce me to the local hostelry.” 

Spock's voice took on a more glacial tone. “As tempting as that sounds, Captain, I would prefer to remain on board ship.” 

Kirk said, “Right. Right you are, Mister Spock. I shall - check in later. Kirk out.” 

When he lowered his communicator, McCoy was looking at him, eyebrows raised. “So - Spock was here, was he?” 

Kirk avoided his gaze, looking back the way McCoy had come. “Where the hell is that bar?” 

Two hours and some bourbon later, Kirk was feeling rather more relaxed and wondering why he didn’t take shore leave more often. The tavern McCoy had raved about had lived up to its billing. He’d spent a pleasant few hours drinking, laughing, and chatting casually with his CMO, and Scotty, and Darren, and various other crewmembers who had come and gone. Now the place was empty, the shadows had lengthened, and an open fire had flared into life next to them, chasing away what had almost been a chill. Kirk stretched out towards it with a contented sigh. Next to him, McCoy sipped at his bourbon with a similar air of satisfaction.  

Kirk glanced at his CMO, then a thought occurred, and he shifted. “Bones?” 

“Hm-hmm?” 

“Don’t misconstrue this as me not enjoying your company, but what happened to Yeoman Barrows? I rather formed the impression that you two would be spending some quality time together on this leave.” He arched an eyebrow at his CMO. 

McCoy smiled back at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Jim, but if it was a choice between leave with you and leave with her, you’d be Billy No-Mates so fast you wouldn’t know what hit you. As it happens, I’m meeting her in -” he checked an ornate clock on the wall "- forty-five minutes. She was press ganged by Uhura, Chapel, and Rand this afternoon. Apparently, this planet has a spa.”  

“Well, that explains it then.” 

“Explains what?”  

Kirk lifted the bourbon bottle. “You, not pulling your bourbon weight. I’ve drunk more than half of this.” 

“A gentleman does not meet a lady drunk.” 

“Quite right. Well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

McCoy snorted. “That leaves me with a frighteningly wide field of endeavour.” 

Kirk tried valiantly to look offended, then laughed. “You’re the one with the date. I shall just sit and get sadly drunk on my own.” 

“You should have asked Ruth to stick around. I don’t understand why you didn’t.” 

Kirk swirled his drink, and smiled, a bit sadly, McCoy thought. “It was – amazing to see her again. Really fantastic. It gave me the kind of closure I didn’t think I needed, but if she’d stuck around any longer- “ He stopped.  

“If she’d stuck around?” McCoy prompted.  

“I might have been tempted to message her. The real her. Back on Earth.” 

“Ah.” 

“And it ended right. I see that now. For both of us.” 

McCoy nodded slowly. They sipped their drinks in companionable silence, until McCoy said thoughtfully, “So in the absence of Ruth, your mind threw up – your Vulcan science officer? I don’t even want to think about what that says about your love life.”  

Kirk stared at him for a second, then laughed. “Okay, you’re right. That is pathetic. Although, it’s funny, for a moment I did think - “ he broke off, good humour subsiding slightly.  

McCoy said, “What?” 

‘Nothing. It’s - nothing.” 

McCoy watched him expectantly, sipping his bourbon.  

After a moment, Kirk said, “We were just talking. About – what happened with Chris. And then – oh, it’s ridiculous.” He took another swig of his drink.  

McCoy said patiently, “What’s ridiculous?”  

“There was a moment, when I thought – I mean, the atmosphere was like – he was about to – well, declare his undying love or something.” 

McCoy stared at him for a long, disbelieving moment, then started to laugh. He laughed so hard he shook, and had to put his drink down to avoid spilling it.  

Kirk said, pre-emptively, “Oh, shut up.” 

McCoy said, still grinning, “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Of all the people on that ship to be secretly in love with you, you went straight for the Vulcan. Ego, thy name is James TIberius Kirk.” He started to laugh again.  

“I did say shut up.”  

“I heard, I just ignored you.” McCoy grinned. He picked up his bourbon, took another sip, and his expression grew thoughtful. He waved his drink expansively. “But the question we should be asking here, is why would your subconscious suggest that Spock is in love with you? Is it because -  you’d like him to be?” 

He eyed Kirk with a half amused, half serious, expectant expression.  

Jim frowned. “Don’t be absurd. I’m not going to tell you my business if you’re going to be idiotic about it.” 

“I’m not being idiotic.” McCoy sipped his drink again, eyeing Kirk over the glass. Then added in his most innocent tone, “Maybe you’re secretly in love with him.”  

Kirk gaped at him, before saying, in the voice of one explaining to the very hard of thinking, “I. Am Not. In Love. With Spock.” 

McCoy said mildly, “If you say so.”  

“I do say so. And anyway, it’d be pretty awful if I was.”  

“Why?” 

“Oh come on, Bones, let me count the ways!” He began ticking them off on his fingers. “He’s my first officer, he’s Vulcan, so he denies having emotions, let alone feeling them -“ 

“Yeah, but we both know that's –” 

“Did I mention the whole ‘chain of command’ issue? Because it bears repeating.”  

“Yes, but - “ 

“Hold on, I’m not done.”  

“Well, I think he’d be good for you.”  

Kirk stared. “Good for me?!” 

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think he can be the most annoying individual ever placed in the galaxy to shorten my lifespan. He’s irritating, supercilious, stuck up, so sharp he might cut himself one of these days, he can be cold as hell, although that ‘no emotions’ thing is the biggest crock of –” 

“You’re really selling this-” 

“But I’ve never seen you smile so much as you do around him. He’s smart enough to dig you out of whatever trouble you’ve got into. He balances you. And whatever else he is, he’s loyal. And for some inexplicable reason he’s decided to dedicate all that intelligence and loyalty to you. And don’t tell me it’s just the service. What he did for Pike wasn’t the service. And you don’t think he’d do more for you? Because I do. And you can’t keep condemning him for it, Jim. Not when that kind of loyalty might keep you alive one day.”  

There was silence for a few moments.  

Then Kirk said, “You've had too much to drink. I can tell, because you've forgotten you’re not supposed to like him.”  

“Doesn’t make me wrong.”  

There was another silence.  

Then Kirk said, abruptly, “Speaking of Spock, I looked out the security footage. Of you arresting him. I think I need to send you on some sort of command refresher course. It was the least convincing detainment of a fellow officer I’ve ever seen. It’s a good thing he went quietly.” 

McCoy glared at him. “Don’t you dare. It was – I was - under significant pressure.”  

Kirk said, “Well, don’t make idiotic pronouncements about me and Spock then.” 

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Shut up and drink your bourbon.” 

 * 

Two days later, back aboard ship, Kirk sat in another companionable silence, this time with the subject of the previous conversation. Spock was sat on the opposite side of his desk, working quietly through some ship’s business. He had accepted Kirk’s invitation to do so with alacrity, and the atmosphere between them had been easy, more like it used to be. They finally seemed to have put Talos IV, and the fate of Chris Pike, behind them.  

As he absently watched Spock work, his mind began to wander from the report in his hand, and the talk with Bones in the tavern came back to him. It crossed his mind to relay something of the incident. Bones had found it funny. Spock might even find it amusing, in that quiet Vulcan way of his. Remember that shore leave planet, well I saw you, and you won’t believe -   

Except, sitting here with the real Spock, watching his dark eyes scan quickly across the padd in front of him, absorbed in that air of competence and efficiency he seemed to generate so effortlessly, it somehow didn’t seem funny anymore. Even though it was still beyond ridiculous, really.  

The light cast half of Spock’s face into shadow, catching his dark hair and cheekbones on the side nearest to his Captain. Bones was right. The idea that Spock would be in love with him was hubris of the highest order. Even if he wanted to be true. Which he didn’t. Obviously. For all the reasons he had listed, and more.  

Kirk sighed to himself. He really shouldn’t leave shore leave so long next time. He turned his attention back to his report.  

USS Enterprise, Stardate : 3380.48 (Terran Calendar: 6 th August 2266) Ship’s time: 16.10  

“Your Captain is losing his battle. We would suggest you make whatever memorial arrangements, if any, which are customary in your culture. We believe you have very little time left.” 

At Spock’s side, McCoy cried out, “We appeal to you! In the name of civilization, put a stop to this.” 

Spock’s mind deplored the Doctor’s open emotionality, even as his heart applauded every word, and he looked to the screen for a response. After a chilling moment of silence, the voice came again: 

“Your violent intent and actions demonstrate that you are not civilized. However, we are not without compassion. It is possible you may have feelings toward your Captain. So that you will be able to prepare yourself, we will allow you to see and hear what is now transpiring.” 

Spock gripped the arms of the command chair, as the screen wavered and for the first time in three point seven hours, he set eyes on James Kirk. As his Captain limped across the terrain and threw himself down against the rock, Spock tried to judge his capacity. He was injured. His physical capability would be significantly impaired. He was tired. His reaction times would be slower. His two primary advantages against stronger opposition, speed and cunning, would therefore be significantly reduced. The Metrons were correct. The chances of his Captain surviving his next encounter were – not encouraging. Even the thought caused a stab of pain through his chest. He did not calculate the odds. He must center himself – he must be of use to Jim.  

An old Earth expression his mother had employed flitted through his mind. Where there’s life, there’s hope. He could not see the hope in this situat– the screen caught his attention. The rock against which Kirk was leaning. That mineral deposit looked like – potassium nitrate. At the moment his Captain first appeared on screen, he had also seen – he was seventy-four percent certain – sulphur. With that combination, it might be possible to make a crude, but effective weapon. An old Earth weapon, in fact. Would Jim know? He had heard his Captain speak of old Earth military traditions and weapons in the past. He stared hard at the man on the screen, willing him to remember.  

Gunpowder, Jim. Gunpowder.  

Kirk slumped against the rock, and stared again at the mineral deposit. Sulphur. Something about sulphur. Something important. A word. An old word. Why the hell couldn’t he remember? Tired. Too damn tired. He took a steadying breath. From out of nowhere, the word appeared, as if whispered directly into his mind.  

Gunpowder.  

A smile slowly formed on his face.  

USS Enterprise, Same day, Ship’s time: 22.30  

“I will have you in check in four moves, Captain.” 

Kirk stretched uncomfortably, rotating his shoulder, and Spock looked at him with concern. “Perhaps you should see Doctor McCoy, Captain, if you are in discomfort.” 

Kirk shook his head. “No, I’m fine. The Metrons fixed me up. Honestly,” he gave Spock a rueful half smile, “I think it might be psychosomatic. Like my body can’t believe I went through all that and I’m completely okay.”  

“That would be – not illogical, Jim.” 

Kirk’s smile became genuine. “I appreciate that, Mister Spock.”  

He reached for a piece on the board, and Spock raised an eyebrow. Kirk withdrew his hand, checked the board again, and made a different move. “Sorry. Tired.” 

“I should let you rest.” 

“Stay, and finish the game first.” 

There was no command in Kirk’s tone, but Spock reached for his piece anyway, placing it into position next to his Captain’s rook. He waited for Kirk to make the obvious move.  

After a moment, Jim said, still looking at the board. “I thought I was going to die down there. I was - pretty angry about it. But I was glad – really glad – that you had the Enterprise. I couldn’t imagine leaving her with anyone else.” 

Spock looked at the man opposite him, whole and healthy, and remembered the terror that had seized his heart when the Metrons had announced Kirk’s imminent death. Aloud, he said, “Fortunately, your ingenious and efficacious actions ensured I was not in command for long.” 

Kirk’s slight air of melancholy faded, and he looked at his first officer with a smile. “Sorry about that.”  

“I would have it no other way, Captain.” 

His obvious sincerity softened Kirk’s smile. It occurred to Spock, for the first time, how unbearable the reality that had briefly confronted him on the bridge – one without James Kirk – would truly be. Never seeing that smile again would be a loss the depth of which he did not feel presently able to measure. 

Kirk said quietly, “You were right, you know. About haring off after the Gorns, seeking immediate revenge for the loss of all those people. Maybe not - my best call.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “It was a tactically sound decision. It was indeed possible that the ship could have been testing our defences in preparation for a larger attack.” 

“But it wasn’t, though, was it? In the end, it was mercy that won the day. I’ll bear that in mind, in future.”  

To Kirk’s utter surprise, Spock quoted quietly, “The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed: it blesseth him that gives and him that takes. It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings.” 

Kirk blinked himself out of the reverie Spock’s voice had caused. “That’s Shakespeare? Is he - popular on Vulcan?”  

“He is. In spite of the unfortunate attitudes that occasionally pervade his work – a product of the time in which he lived – he is seen as a human writer without equal, and one whose work provides valuable insights to those wishing to better understand the human condition, and indeed, humans in particular.” 

Kirk put his head on one side. “I’m not sure how to feel about that. There’s a lot of violence in his plays.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “There is a great deal of violence in Earth’s history. But his plays also contain humanity's most positive qualities. Not simply mercy, but amongst many: inspiration, courage, resilience, wisdom, creativity, and – an extraordinary capacity to love.” 

“Not qualities unique to humans, though.” Kirk was smiling at him again.  

“Indeed not. But in my time amongst humans, I have seen them - frequently demonstrated.” 

Kirk was looking at him fondly. “Has it ever occurred to you that you might inspire those qualities in the humans you’ve met? 

Spock blinked. “I find that notion - an unlikely one, Captain.”  

Kirk laughed softly, and reached for his chess piece. “If you say so, Mister Spock.”  

A thought occurred, and he said, “Who is the Vulcan equivalent? Not a playwright, necessarily, but if I wanted to understand Vulcans better through a great writer in your history, who would I look to?” 

Spock said immediately, “Surak. His writings, at the time of our awakening, encapsulate all that was best in the passions of the world we left behind, and all that would be greatest in the world we strive to achieve.” 

“I’d like to read him sometime.” 

Spock said, a little hesitantly, “I have a book of his most famous teachings in my quarters. It is in standard, as it was my mother’s. You would be - welcome to borrow it, if you wished.” 

“Really?” Kirk looked pleased. “Thank you. That’d be – well, thank you. I look forward to reading it sometime.”  

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 3570.94 (Terran calendar: 1st September 2266) Ship’s time: 22:55 

“Well, I can’t believe she’s gone.” Chapel dealt each hand, and laid the remaining cards face down in the center of the table.  

“I can’t believe she went with him.” Uhura’s face was expressive as she picked up her cards. “I mean – stuck on a planet with a man who thinks he’s God’s gift. For the rest of your life. No, thank you.”  

Rand said bitterly, “She always did think she was too good for this ship."  

Chapel threw her a chastising glance. “Now that’s not totally fair, Jan.”  

“Yes, it is.” Rand said firmly. “Don’t take her side, she nearly got the Captain killed.”  

“And she saved him.” Chapel was sorting through her cards.  

“Only after she endangered his life.” Rand muttered resentfully. “Like his job isn’t hard enough.” She picked up her hand. 

Uhura hid her smile. After their difficult start, Rand was now more fiercely protective of James Kirk than anyone else on the crew. Her job meant she occasionally saw what he kept hidden from everyone else – moments of tiredness, of vulnerability, and she often went above and beyond the call to make sure nothing bothered the Captain that wasn’t directly related to the running of the ship. Uhura briefly amused herself by imagining the scenes if Khan had decided to take Janice Rand, instead of Marla McGivers. He would, she decided, have given her back very quickly.  

Rand shuffled her cards into a new order, and sighed. “Well, at least they’re gone. Good riddance.” 

Uhura laid down a card, and picked up another from the stack. She said thoughtfully, “Do you think the Captain did the right thing?” 

Rand looked at her in surprise. After herself, Nyota Uhura was the least likely person to invite criticism of James Kirk. “What do you mean?” 

Uhura frowned. “I’m not sure. They hijacked the ship. They would have killed him, if not for Marla. And Mister Spock, then all of us. And he just – let them go.” 

“Hardly let them go. They won’t be getting off that planet any time soon.” Chapel discarded one card and picked up another. 

“I guess not.” Uhura looked dissatisfied. “But - you can't trust a man like Khan. He’d wouldn’t hesitate to burn his own house down with you inside if he wanted you dead.”  

“That’s a cheerful thought.” Chapel was looking at her, concerned.  

Uhura smiled at her. “Oh, I know, I’m being dramatic.” She touched her cheek, where Chris had spent sometime earlier returning her skin to its usual flawless state.  

“If it’s any consolation, he went back and forth on it with Mister Spock for ages.” Rand took a card in her turn. “In fact, it was Mister Spock who found their planet.” Rand discarded quickly, and added, “They talked about it for at least an hour. Didn’t even play chess.”  

Chapel said interestedly, “What did Mister Spock think?” 

“Well, I was in and out, but -” Rand clicked her tongue in disappointment at Uhura’s discarded card. “ - from what I could gather, Mister Spock wanted to turn them into Starfleet security at the next starbase, but the Captain talked him round.” 

Uhura smiled fondly. “Of course, he did.” 

Rand smiled back, as Chapel picked up a card. Rand said, “You know I wouldn’t talk about this to anyone else, but they are terribly sweet sometimes.” 

Chapel hummed at her hand. “Who are?” 

“The Captain, and Mister Spock.”  

Chapel looked up in surprise. “Sweet? How?”  

Rand said, “It’s nothing specific, really, it’s just, when they’re off duty, and it’s the two of them, and I’ll pop in for something, and they’re so wrapped up in their game, or their conversation, or whatever, it’s like they forget I’m there - .”   

Uhura laughed in sympathy. “Honestly, when he’s talking to Mister Spock, I sometimes think the Captain forgets the entire bridge crew is there.”  

Chapel stared at them in shock. “Are you two saying that the Captain is – has – with Mister Spock?”  

“Not like that, Chris,” Rand gave her a look of disapproval, “drag your mind out of the gutter. Not everyone wants to sleep with Mister Spock.” Uhura giggled and Chapel threw her a glare, and poked her with her foot under the table. 

“To be fair though,” Uhura said, recovering, “I think the number who would want to is pretty high. And I’d definitely include the Captain.”  

“Chris, throw a card down or we’ll be here all night.” Rand pointed to Chapel’s hand, still holding one too many cards. “And the Captain would never be so unprofessional. I’ve heard him talk about ship board romances. He doesn’t approve.” 

“You’re just saying that because he talked you out of dating Lieutenant Roach.” Uhura tutted in her turn at Chapel’s discarded card.  

Chapel, for her part, was staring in disbelief at Rand. “You discuss your love life with the Captain?’  

“I do not!” Rand was indignant. “But he asked me where I’d put one of his data discs once, and I couldn’t remember – he has so many – so I went to check, only I was ready for my date, and he noticed, obviously - “ 

“I picked the dress.” Uhura interrupted proudly.  

Rand picked up a card. “Right, so naturally he asked what the occasion was, so I had to tell him, and then he went - “ she pulled a polite Kirk-esque face, “‘Hmm.’ So of course I had to ask him what ‘hmm’ meant,” she threw down a card, “and, well, as it turned out, when he served on the Farragut -” 

“Long story short,” Uhura put in, “He’s vetting Janice’s dates.” 

“Oh, he is not.” Rand swatted her with her cards. “He just had some pertinent information about Lieutenant Roach, was all. Anyway, my point was, that even if the Captain did want to sleep with a member of the crew – up to and including our first officer, he’s too much the professional to actually do it.” 

Uhura said in a singsong voice, “Five years is a long time,” laughed at Rand’s disapproving expression and held her hands up. “I’m just saying, if someone looked at me the way the Captain looks at Mister Spock, and didn’t act on it in five years, I’d be – let’s say - disappointed.” 

Chapel frowned. “But even if the Captain did - I mean, Mister Spock is Vulcan. He wouldn’t - he just wouldn’t be interested.”  

Uhura made a humming noise of consideration. “Who knows what’s going on under that controlled Vulcan exterior. I wouldn’t even like to speculate.” 

Chapel stood abruptly and took a bottle from the side table, a gift from the Doctor's ‘medicinal’ alcohol cabinet. “Who’s for a top-up? And some speculation?” 

Starbase 11, Courtroom. Stardate : 3942.3 (Terran Calendar: 23 rd October 2266) Ship’s time: 10:15  

Kirk sat, upright and stone faced, as the proceedings progressed. His command, his career, everything he had worked for, all his life, was all riding on the judgement of the men opposite him. Spock stood, and walked to the stand. The thought flashed through his mind that Spock’s next Captain might not be a chess player, and he quashed that line of thought before it evoked any emotional reaction. 

Externally, he had the appearance of an entirely calm man awaiting proof of his innocence. Internally, watching Areel question Spock was doing destablising things to his hard-won equanimity. He hated that Spock was in this position, and hated that it was Areel questioning him. He took a steadying breath. Next to him, Cogley shot him a sharp glance, then looked back to the stand.  

Areel was saying, “Now the stardate -” but he never found out where that line of enquiry was going, as Spock spoke fluidly over her. “But the computer is inaccurate, nevertheless.”  

Kirk blinked. Areel said, sharply, “Why do you say that?”  

Kirk’s heart was trying to beat out of his chest as Spock replied coolly, “It reports that the jettison button was pressed before the Red Alert.” 

That’s their case. Why is Spock making their case?   

Areel had seen the same thing, and said quickly, “In other words, it reports that Captain Kirk was reacting to an extreme emergency that did not then exist.” She ended the sentence with satisfaction, her point made, but Spock continued it regardless, “And that is impossible.” 

Kirk stared. Areel blinked in surprise, but rallied quickly. “It is? Were you watching him the exact moment he pressed the jettison button?” 

“No, I was occupied. The ship was already on Yellow Alert.” 

“Then how can you dispute the finding of the log?” Areel sounded genuinely curious.

“I do not dispute it. I merely state that it is wrong.” Kirk realised, suddenly and with shock, that his first officer had nothing to support his assertion. No logical deduction, no reasoned argument. Nothing. Spock. Silently, Kirk sent a belated prayer of thanks to any higher being that had been watching out for James Kirk on the day that Ensign Spock boarded the Enterprise.  

“Oh? On what do you base that statement?” Areel’s tone was verging on outright skepticism now.  

“I know the Captain. He is in -” 

Areel saw the danger and interrupted him quickly, turning to the bench, “Please instruct the witness not to speculate.” 

Before Stone could respond, Spock said with almost offended dignity, “Lieutenant, I am half Vulcan. Vulcans do not speculate. I speak from pure logic.”  

No you don’t, Kirk thought, with a sudden, desperate affection that made his throat tighten, you liar. You really don’t.   

Spock continued with certainty, “If I let go of a hammer on a planet that has a positive gravity, I need not see it fall to know that it has in fact fallen.” 

Areel was floundering slightly. She had clearly not expected a Vulcan, asked to relay facts, to be a difficult witness. Under other circumstances, Kirk would have sympathized. She said, uncertainly, “I do not see what that has to do with -” 

Spock interrupted her again, his voice ringing through the courtroom, filled with absolute and unshakeable faith, “Gentlemen, human beings have characteristics just as inanimate objects do. It is impossible for Captain Kirk to act out of panic or malice. It is not his nature.” 

Jim had to look at the desk. He was glad that there was no reason for him to speak. He wasn't sure he would be able to, around the constriction in his throat.  

Cogley, who had been listening with an apparent casual disinterest, muttered distractedly, “He’s good. I like him.” 

Jim swallowed hard, then said, very quietly, "So do I.” 

USS Enterprise, same day, Ship’s time: 17:35 

Beneath his feet, Kirk felt the great ship level out, and assume an even orbit. He put an almost steady hand on the nearest bulkhead. “Good girl.” Mine. Still mine. There were formalities to see to, sure, but his innocence was proven beyond doubt. He would be her Captain still. Relief so profound washed through him that he slumped against the panel, and closed his eyes, waiting for the emotion and adrenaline to dissipate enough to present a professional face to the world. 

The doors to the power relay room opened and Spock entered, almost at a run.  

“Captain!” 

Kirk pointed to the Jeffries tube, said, somewhat redundantly, “I fixed it.” 

Spock said quickly, formally, “You did. The ship is in a stable orbit. Lieutenant Uhura has the conn.” 

Then just as quickly, the formality dropped, and he stepped towards his Captain, “Jim, Commodore Stone has ruled to dismiss the court. The case is dropped, but he requires your presence on the bridge for the sake of protocol.”  

Kirk gave a huff of near hysterical laughter and leaned back against the bulkhead. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his first officer was looking at him with concern. Kirk felt joy, relief, and affection wash through him so intensely, he couldn’t help but smile. He said, “You could have commed me. To tell me that.” 

He watched the thought occur to his first officer that he had absolutely no logical reason for not doing so. And started to laugh. Spock raised a confused eyebrow. “Jim?” 

“Spock. Spock, you are - “ he stopped. There just weren’t enough words. He drew himself upright and crossed the few steps to his best friend. He reached out and gripped Spock’s shoulder, near his neck, holding him in place as he said, “Spock - you just saved my career, my command, everything I’ve worked for – just because –” he felt emotion tightening his throat again, and hurried past it “- just because you believed in me. I – I won’t forget that. I’ll never forget that.”  

Spock’s face was inches from his, his eyes wide. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no words came. Jim smiled at him. “And now, I’m going to get my ship back.” He squeezed Spock’s shoulder, released him and walked to the door. At the threshold, he stopped. Spock hadn’t moved.  

He called back, “Oh, Spock?” The Vulcan turned. He was oddly still, and his face appeared slightly flushed.  

Kirk said, “Just to be clear, those chess games you won against the computer?” 

Spock tilted his head in curiosity. "Yes, Captain?"

“They don’t count for your score. I’m still ahead.” Kirk grinned, taking in the raised eyebrow in delight, before turning and almost running for the bridge.  

*

Notes:

*
Spock cut out a bit of Portia’s monologue there. Sorry, Shakespeare fans.
*
I’m re-watching some of the TOS eps I haven’t seen in a few years to get the excerpts right, and oh my god, I know I’m writing a story about their relationship, but even I’d forgotten the CONSTANT flirting. Even stuff that doesn’t read flirty is delivered flirty. They are so damn cute. Ahem. Anyway.
*
I considered doing a post-Space Seed foreshadowing conversation between Kirk and Spock but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’m already dreading the Wrath of Khan chapter. Although if it’s foreshadowing you want, canon got you covered. Spock actually says: “It would be interesting, Captain, to return to that world in a hundred years and to learn what crop has sprung from the seed you planted today.” Kirk replies: “Yes, Mister Spock. It would indeed.” My shipper heart ran and hid behind a cushion.

Up next: Spock is happy. Kirk witnesses his first mind meld, and falls in love.

Chapter 9: On the Edge of Forever

Summary:

I'm a bit concerned about the drop in quality of these last few chapters due to me writing faster than I would usually. I hope it's not too vertiginous! So:

Scenes set during and after This Side of Paradise
Scenes set during and after The Devil in the Dark
Scenes set during and after The City on the Edge of Forever

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Earth Colony, Omicron Ceti Three. Stardate: 4108.61 (Terran Calendar: 15th November 2266) Ship's time: 10:30.

“Well, that’s not appropriate,” Kirk muttered.  

Next to him, McCoy looked up from his tricorder. “What?” 

Kirk nodded across the field around them. Standing away from the other colonists and crew, Spock and Leila were deep in conversation. Her hand was resting on his arm, and showed no sign of moving.  

Kirk said, irritably, “I thought they were old friends. Doesn't she know Vulcans don’t like casual touch? It’s a cultural thing.” 

McCoy stared at him incredulously. “Just this morning, you practically put your arm around him -  

“Yes, thank you, Doctor.” 

“- on the bridge - .” 

Kirk said sharply, “Don’t you have some colonists to scan?” 

On his captain’s face, McCoy said, “Fine, fine, I’m going.” He went to move, then stopped. “It does answer that question we were wondering about, though.” 

Kirk was still watching the couple across the field. “What question?” 

“If Spock has any lost loves.” McCoy nodded across the field. “There she is. His Nancy. His Ruth.”  

Kirk stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not that serious. They – look like they barely know each other.” 

“Oh yeah,” McCoy said dryly. “I always look at people I barely know like that.”  

Kirk said, “Colonists, Doctor. Scans. Now.”  

Kirk was almost sure, as McCoy walked away, he heard “Captain Grumpy” muttered, but decided to ignore it. Across the field, Leila’s hand had moved further up Spock’s arm. Kirk set his jaw, and went to find Sulu.  

As before, Ship's time: 11:45

This was like some bizarre nightmare. Kirk stared in disbelief at his first officer. His smiling, insubordinate, Vulcan first officer. He really didn’t have time to figure out whatever was wrong.

“Mister Sulu. Mister Spock is under arrest and in your custody until we get back to the Enterprise.” At least it would keep him away from Leila. Sulu and Desalle stepped forward. They didn’t seem to be finding this situation nearly as outrageous as their Captain. Desalle was barely hiding a smile.  

Spock gave an audible sigh. “Very well.” He swung down from his branch, landing lightly, and turning to Leila with another smile. James Kirk was not a man to rush to judgement on another person, but the doe-eyed, adoring expression that Leila turned on his first officer was making his already fairly advanced dislike of her solidify into something approaching a genuine enmity. It was difficult to decide which was making him more irritated right now: her innocent, bland smile, when she had clearly done something to his friend, or the fact that Spock had taken her hand, and was smiling back at her. That last was annoying on two levels: that this, this was the moment he had finally seen Spock smile, and that it was directed at someone as fundamentally unworthy of it as Leila Kalomi. He glared up at the offending branch in disbelief, then hurried to catch the rest of the party as they crossed the field. 

As they approached the native plants, they shook, and expelled some kind of spore. Instinct made him recoil, but as he moved forward again, he felt it – a growing sense of peace at the edge of his consciousness. He turned to speak to Spock, then caught Leila’s expression. She was looking at him with a knowing, almost smug smile. It occurred to him that he had never in his life disliked someone quite so heartily on such meagre acquaintance. The peaceful feeling flared, and vanished.  

USS Enterprise, same day, Ship’s time 16:30

Kirk watched the turbolift doors close behind his first officer, and turned back to the bridge console, taking his place at the exposed panel. He’d changed over two circuits when a thought occurred. What if it was possible to be re-infected? What if there was more than one strain? What if Leila brought some new spores onto his ship? He sat up so fast he hit his head on the underside of the console.  

Wincing, he turned to the monitor. “Computer, show security feed from transporter room one, sound and visual.” 

Obediently, the monitor lit up, and the transporter console appeared. Next to it were Spock and Leila. For a heart-stopping moment he thought they were about to kiss, and then he realised, with a twinge of something that felt almost like guilt, that she was on the verge of tears. She said, “I love you. I said that six years ago, and I can't seem to stop repeating myself. On Earth, you couldn't give anything of yourself. You couldn't even put your arms around me.” McCoy had been wrong. Leila had not been Spock’s Ruth. He ignored the fierce flare of satisfaction that thought engendered.  

Spock was clearly in no danger. Kirk reached for the switch to kill the feed to the bridge monitor. Then he heard Spock’s voice, “I have a responsibility to this ship, to that man on the bridge.” Kirk’s finger froze in place. “I am what I am, Leila, and if there are self-made purgatories, then we all have to live in them. Mine can be no worse than someone else's.”  

She was crying now. “I have lost you, haven't I? And not only you, I've lost all of it. The spores. I've lost them, too.”  

“The Captain discovered that strong emotions and needs destroy their influence.” 

She had turned away from him, but now she turned back. “And this is for my good? Do you mind if I say I still love you? You never told me if you had another name, Mister Spock.” She was trying to brave it out, and for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her, Kirk felt a stab of sympathy.  

Until Spock reached for her, holding her face gently, and wiping her tears in a manner so tender it made his heart clench. He heard Spock say, “You couldn't pronounce it.” 

Kirk snapped off the feed, slightly ashamed of himself for watching for so long. He took a steadying breath, then went back to work.  

Ten minutes later, when Spock returned to the bridge, he didn’t ask about Leila, and Spock volunteered no information. Merely took his place besides his captain, and continued their work.  

USS Enterprise, same day. Ship's time: 23:10

Kirk stared at the padd in front of him, then over at his first officer on the other side of his desk. “I'm really struggling to make ‘my entire crew mutinied’ not reflect badly on me in this report.”  

Spock raised an eyebrow. “They were under the influence of an alien pathogen, Captain. It could hardly have been anticipated.”  

“This is going to keep command amused for weeks. I bet I start getting 'humorous’ messages with our mission briefings. ‘Hey Jim, have you managed to hang onto your crew this week?’ it’s going to get old really fast.” He turned back to his work with a sigh.  

When a few more minutes had gone by, and no better wording had suggested itself, he looked up again at his first officer. He watched him work for a few moments, then said, suddenly, “Spock, listen. All that stuff I said in the transporter room. I just wanted to be clear - “ 

Spock cut him off. “No apology is necessary, Captain. Your behaviour was ingenious and highly effective. My own behaviour was insubordinate and should have led to a court martial.”  

Kirk winced. “You had a good reason for it. You, and the rest of the crew. And we’ve had quite enough of courts martial on this ship. We’re getting a reputation. Still, I hope you know I didn’t mean any of -” 

“You have – quite a creative line in insults, Captain. There were even a few I had not heard before.” 

Kirk had the grace to look embarrassed. “I - don’t think we need to revisit them.” Then his expression grew curious. “But, out of interest, and in case a similar situation arises again, what did it, by the way? I mean, I really did have to get creative. I was starting to worry I wouldn’t be able to get you mad enough.”  

Spock hesitated. In his mind, he heard Kirk’s voice say: and you've got the gall to make love to that girl. Does she know what she's getting, Spock? A carcass full of memory banks who should be squatting in a mushroom, instead of passing himself off as a man? That, from Jim, had done it. He remembered a flash of pure hurt, a feeling of acute betrayal, but – he did not know why, of everything Jim had said, that insult had cut deeper than the rest.  

Aloud, he said, “The reference to my parentage - “ 

“Oh. I am – sorry about that. I’d actually love to meet your parents. Especially your mother. She must be really something.” 

Spock’s expression had softened. “She has also expressed a desire to meet you.” 

Kirk’s look of guilt vanished, to be replaced with a smile. “Has she? You’ve, er, you’ve mentioned me to her then?” 

“Your name has – come up in conversation.”  

“Oh good. Flatteringly, I hope.”  

“Indeed, Captain.”  

“Good. Spock, if I ever do get to meet her, you won’t, er, you won’t mention that encyclopaedia thing, will you?” 

“I will not, Captain.”  

“Oh good. And to give further credit where it’s due: you have an impressive line in hand to hand combat, Mister Spock. I’m glad those spores wore off when they did. You’d’ve made Captain by default.” On his first officer’s face, he added, “That was a joke, Spock.” He rubbed his jaw feelingly. “All the same, remind me never to get in a serious fight with you.” 

“That is unlikely, Captain.” 

Kirk smiled. “Good to know.”  

Spock bent again to his work, and Kirk returned to his report. After a moment, he looked up again. Spock had said something on the bridge earlier that had been eating at him ever since. It would be an awkward conversation to have with a Vulcan, but as a Captain, let alone a friend, he couldn’t let it rest.  

He said, quietly, “Spock?” 

His first officer looked up. “Yes, Captain?” 

“What you said on the bridge. About being happy for the first time. Look, I - I know this isn’t paradise. Far from it, most of the time, but I wanted to say – if there’s ever anything I can do to help you - I mean, as Captain, I have a duty to ensure the health of my crew - both physical and mental. If you’re not happy here, not happy in your work, you know you can always speak to me, right? If there’s anything I can do, or change, or -” 

“Jim.” Spock’s expression, which had been somewhat confused as he began to speak, had gentled into what Kirk thought of as his almost-smile. “I did not speak with sufficient clarity on the bridge. Perhaps it would have been more accurate for me to say that it was the first time I allowed myself to fully experience the emotion of happiness.” 

Kirk nodded slowly. “Right. Okay. Yes. That is – clearer.”  

He still looked, to Spock’s eyes, a little uncertain, so he added carefully, “Jim, would it bring you - emotional security - to know that, were I to allow such emotion to arise, I believe it would frequently do so – aboard the Enterprise?” 

Kirk face, which had been verging on a frown, broke into a smile. He said quietly, “It would, Mister Spock. It would. Thank you.”  

Pergium Production Station, Janus Six. Stardate: 4247.79 (Terran Calendar: 4th December 2266)

Kirk watched as Spock knelt again next to the Horta. He had returned his phaser to its place on his belt, but as Spock reached for the creature he had to fight the urge to take it up again. Instead, he shifted his weight, and waited.  

McCoy crossed to him, still wiping silicone from his hands. He nodded towards Spock, said softly, “You okay with that? You were worried about him last time.” 

“It was his suggestion.” Kirk matched McCoy’s soft tone, but didn’t take his eyes off the Horta. “And he’s just saved who knows how many lives. It looks like it’s going okay, though,” he risked a quick glance to McCoy, “you think?” 

McCoy nodded. “Better than with Van Gelder, if that’s what you mean.” 

“Spock did say the Horta had a logical mind. It must make things easier somehow. All the same, I’d be happier if you kept an eye on him.” He nodded towards McCoy’s medical kit, still leaning against a rock.  

McCoy followed his eyes. “Yeah, me too.” He moved for the kit.  

This meld was far easier than the first. McCoy’s work had made the Horta’s pain subside to a dull ache, which she was easily able to ignore, to allow her to focus exclusively on Spock’s mental presence, for the first time. Her grief and despair were still present, but without her intense physical pain, she was able to momentarily hold them at bay, to communicate with him in her turn. She had grasped their language with remarkable speed.  

He heard: Will you convey – he felt thanks/gratitude - to your – his mind supplied healer/doctor.  

I shall do so. I am sorry you were hurt.  

It will heal now. Are my children safe? The murderers are close, but they do not – he had a distressing flash of destruction/murder/violence.  

No, and they will not. They did not understand before. They did not know of you, and your children. They do now.  

He felt, with surprise, her probing his mind in turn, questioning his honesty. He allowed her to read his absolute sincerity, and sorrow for her loss. Some of the grief and despair that she had been holding began to dissipate slightly, to be replaced with – hope. That this might not be the end she had feared. Hope, and – curiosity.  

You are all – bipedal.   

Yes  

That is inefficient.   

Spock replied mildly, We are – used to it.   

As if from a distance, he could hear the voices of Kirk and McCoy, speaking low. The Horta seemed to become aware of them too, and he sensed a sudden fear in her mind.  

You asked him to kill me. Spock wondered if she had way of hearing or if she had taken the thought, and the regret, from his mind. Either way, there was a surprising lack of accusation in her tone. She seemed to merely wish to elucidate the difference between the mind behind that request and the mind that touched hers now.  

I am sorry. I do not wish you harm. It was useless to obfuscate in a meld designed to build trust: I was - afraid. I feared you would harm him.   

You care for him.  

Yes .  

Then you understand why I protected my children.  

Yes. We did not know that they were your children. I grieve with thee.   

He felt the truth of that statement land, and allowed her to feel his sincerity, his profound sorrow for the destruction of the eggs and the grief that the unwitting actions of the miners had caused. He felt her slow acceptance that the tragedy had been unintended. That there had been no malice towards her kind from the humans in their midst. He was impressed again with her ability to compartmentalise her emotions, to not allow her grief, as deep as it was, to control her actions. It was approach far closer to Vulcans than humans, and he felt an unexpected kinship with this profoundly alien lifeform.  

Thanks/gratitude. No more will be harmed?  

You have my word. Relief/hope/wonderment. Behind him, the conversation between his Captain and CMO continued. He felt the Horta’s attention move to his Captain.  

She sent, curiously, You care for him. He is, then, your child?  

No. Spock stifled a thread of amusement at the idea that he would ever produce any offspring quite like James Kirk. He is my Captain.   

Until this point, their communication had found equivalent concepts in their two world views such that understanding had come quickly. But he felt immediately that the term Captain had not found a match. The Horta did not appear to have any similar kind of militaristic structure.  

He sensed her curiosity and debated, briefly, trying to communicate the entire concept of Starfleet, then decided, for the sake of speed, to simply elucidate his relationship to his Captain. He sent the strongest image of Kirk he could conjure. To his surprise, what came was not Kirk on the bridge, but Kirk opposite him, at the chess board, having just made an unexpected move, and smiling at him, his face a mixture of affection, amusement, and challenge. He tried to communicate the attitudes associated with Kirk’s rank: respect, loyalty, devotion

He felt immediately when her confusion cleared.  

Ah yes. We also have – his mind searched for an equivalent word to the emotions and concepts she presented. Life partner. Bondmate. Husband.   

Spock felt a flush of embarrassment. It was rare that his ability to mentally communicate concepts failed so entirely.  

No. No, he is not that. He is – my friend. 

He felt a different grief then, a loss that resonated in a long-neglected corner of his mind. The loss of her entire race, and the aching loneliness of her long isolation.  

He felt: You understand. You can also – be lonely. He sensed curiosity again. And yet, you are not alone. What of your friendcaptain 

Spock realised that the Horta was growing more comfortable with the meld, and using it in her turn to enquire into his mind, to learn more of the bipeds with whom she had shared her home. He was impressed anew with her intelligence and strength. She sent: This method of communication is natural to you. It relieves your sense of isolation. Why then do you not use it with your friendcaptain 

It is not – natural to him. Humans find it invasive.   

Humans. He felt her accustoming herself to the word.  

I know they are – not as you. But if a way could be devised, for you to communicate with the humans who also wish to live on this planet, would that be - acceptable to you? Would you permit them to stay? They are aware, now, of the grief they have caused, and they are sorry. They wish to work with you to complete their task whilst ensuring that you and your children remain here in peace.   

They - make tunnels. And – remove rock.   

They do.   

They are very slow. And inefficient.   

They are – merely bipedal.   

He sensed a flash of what could almost have been amusement. Perhaps, if they are to be here also, I could – assist?   

That was my Captain’s suggestion.   

It would seem – logical. They would wish to continue to live here? To communicate with me?   

Yes. And your assistance would be most welcome.   

He sensed her consideration. After a moment he heard. Very well. My children will not be disturbed?   

Identify the areas you wish to be untouched and we will ensure they remain so.   

Thank you. Friend/human.   

USS Enterprise, two days later 

“Captain, I see no reason to stand here and be insulted.” Spock walked from the command chair and resumed his post with an air of injured dignity that was so patently manufactured Kirk had to hide his grin as he called out, “Ahead, warp factor two.” 

As the colony fell into the distance behind the ship, McCoy left the bridge, and Sulu switched the view to the starfield ahead of them, Kirk found his mind was still on the events on the planet. He glanced over to his science officer, who had struck up a quiet conversation with one of his deputies in the ship’s lab.  

If Spock hadn’t been there, more Horta children would have died. And more miners would have been killed. He wasn’t sure he would have figured out the events of the planet as fast as Spock had. And that – that mind meld - had been one of the most extraordinary things he’d ever seen. He gazed unseeing at the starfield in front of him. Watching Spock touch the mind of another being like that, share their thoughts, their pain, all of their emotions, had been disturbing, yet somehow, extraordinary. He’d been worried for Spock, and at the same time quietly amazed at his willingness to put himself through such emotional turmoil. He cast another glance to the science station. It was no wonder, really, that Vulcans pursued a path of logic above emotions. Feeling the emotions of others like that, as well as your own, would be tremendously unsettling without the mental disciplines they practiced.  

He leaned against the arm of the command chair, deep in thought. He wondered, again, what it would be like to be part of a meld. He had wondered the same after the incident with Van Gelder, but as Spock had been clear that he felt it would be inappropriate to meld with his Captain, he had let the idea go. Now though, he wasn’t so sure. The second meld had allayed some of his concerns about the strain the technique put on Spock. Without the Horta’s pain, the meld had seemed almost – friendly. If Spock hadn’t been Vulcan, Kirk would have described his attitude to the experience as positively cheerful.  

All of which begged the question, why couldn’t they try it? There would be an obvious and distinct advantage to Spock being familiar with his Captain’s mind. He’d been replaced by duplicates twice in the first year of their mission alone. The odds favoured it happening again, and if they had a sure-fire way to always tell the real James Kirk from any imposter – his eyes flicked again to the science station.  

That was sufficient reason, in his mind, to attempt a meld. He would make the case to Spock at the first opportunity. And if another reason was required, well, surely it would be possible to teach even a psy-null human ways to shield their thoughts. That could definitely be useful. He remembered the machine on the Tantalus colony with an internal shudder.  

All of which was eminently logical, and sensible. He quite purposefully ignored the quiet, traitorous thought that pointed out how convenient it was that this approach lined up so beautifully with his own curiosity about the technique. And how much he wanted to share that kind of communion with his first officer. That thought was idiotic and irrelevant. Assuming Spock agreed, this would be an experiment in the line of duty. Nothing more than that.  

21st Street Mission, New York City, Earth. Stardate: unknown. Terran calendar: January 17th, 1930 

Spock straightened and looked around the cold, bare basement. It was tidy, far more logically arranged, and as clean as they could make it. It required only a regular sweep to maintain this level of efficiency for some time. He glanced towards the closed basement door. Jim had gone to find food, and would be gone a few more minutes at least. With a suppressed sigh of relief, he removed his hat. The material of the hat was coarse, and rough, and clearly not intended for Vulcan ears. He set it down. The constant chafing of the material was beginning to hurt. It was the fact that he was massaging his ears in an attempt to persuade the irritation to subside that meant he didn’t hear the basement door opening and her light tread on the stairs, until she said, “Jim, have you -” 

Spock whirled, grabbing for his hat, but it was too late. Edith Keeler was standing near the bottom of the stairs, staring at him, wide-eyed.  

After a moment of silence, he said, redundantly, “Jim is – not here.”  

She stepped down from the staircase, and moved closer to him, taking a slightly winding route to allow her to ascertain that, yes, he did look the same on both sides.  

She stopped near him and said, “You've taken your hat off.”  

“Yes.” 

“Why? It’s cold down here.”  

“The material. It is irritating my ears.”  

“Yes, they do look flushed. Are they not usually that color?” 

“No.”  

She made a humming noise that reminded him, oddly, of Uhura. She held her hand out, and after a moment of confusion, he handed her his hat.  

She frowned immediately. “This material is awfully rough. And quite old.” She thought for a second. “We don’t have much by the way of spare clothes at the moment, but leave it outside your room when you go to bed tonight, and I’ll sew some material in the sides for you. I’ve some soft cotton that should make it more comfortable.” 

Spock blinked in genuine surprise. She looked up, and added. “If that’s alright?” 

“I - yes. Thank you, Miss Keeler.”  

She looked at him curiously again, and said, in her direct way, “Where you born this way? 

“I was.” 

“It’s striking, isn’t it?” 

“So I have been informed.”  

“If a little demonic looking.”  

“So I have also been informed.”  

“I quite like it. It suits you.” She nodded, as if definitive judgement had been passed. “Where’s Jim?”  

Spock blinked at the sudden change of subject. “He has gone to enquire about lunch.” 

“Well, it’s ready. I just came to ask if you were hungry.”  

“He is.”  

“No surprise there.” She threw him a slightly shy, conspiratorial smile.  

When he didn’t return it, she said, “You don’t smile much, do you?” 

“I do not.” Further explanation seemed to be required, so he added, “It is – a cultural thing.” 

She made that humming noise again. “And if I were to ask which culture, Mister Spock, would you tell me the truth?” 

“I would not.”  

She laughed then. “What a pair of honest liars you are. Well, I can’t stand around talking to you all day when there are meals to be served.” She turned, taking in the cellar for the first time. “There isn’t much more for you to do here.” She eyed him appraisingly. “How are you at serving meals?”  

“I imagine I could learn, Miss Keeler.” 

She smiled again. “I imagine you could, Mister Spock.” She looked around her again, and back to him. “Tell Jim I said hello.” 

Spock shivered in the darkness. Through the window, a neon streetlight flickered and dimly illuminated their rooms through the thin curtains. He had tried every mental technique he knew to adjust his internal temperature, with limited success. The pervasive cold of old New York seemed to eat into his bones. He and Jim were taking in turns to sleep on the bed, or the small cot on the floor. Sleeping in the bed was hard enough, but Spock found sleeping on the cot impossible. The material was too thin, and the floor too cold, to allow for any comfort.  

Slowly, carefully, he moved from the cot, retrieved his coat, and put it on. The difference was minimal. He moved further from the draft at the window, and sat at the table. In the dim light from the street it was not possible to continue his delicate work, but he knew he would not be able to sleep in this cold. He hunched into himself and rubbed his hands together. The tips of his fingers had been tingling with cold, and were now beginning to hurt. Tiny pinpricks were reducing their sensitivity, and causing pain through his system.  

From the darkness, Jim’s voice said quietly, “Spock, you okay?” 

“My apologies, Captain. I did not mean to disturb you.”  

The bed creaked as Jim shifted. “It’s fine, don’t worry.” Spock saw a shadow shift in Jim’s corner as he rose from the bed and crossed the room. His Captain sat in the other chair and regarded him with concern. “Are you sleeping okay? I heard you moving about last night too.”  

“I have - struggled to regulate my temperature.” 

Kirk’s eyes dropped to where his hands were convulsively rubbing together. Then to Spock’s utter surprise, he reached across the table, and covered Spock’s hands with his.  

Spock drew a sharp breath. Jim's hands were impossibly warm, and the warmth not only soothed his painful fingers, but seemed to spread through his system, touching and soothing the bone-deep cold. He felt his Captain’s concern, and affection. He should pull away, but he could not force his hands to move.  

Kirk frowned in concern. “Spock - your hands are freezing.” He looked across at the cot. “That cot is too cold. We should stop using it.”  

Spock managed, “Jim, the floor would not be an improvement.”  

“I didn’t mean that.” Kirk withdraw his hands, and Spock bit down on a small noise of distress. Kirk stood, pulled the cover off the cot, threw it on the bed, and kicked the cot under the bed. He waved a hand to Spock. “C’mere.” 

Spock stood in confusion, and crossed to his Captain. Kirk had picked up the covers from the bed, and his own coat. He held a hand out to Spock. “Coat.”  

Spock reluctantly removed it, and Kirk gathered it with the rest of the material in his arms. He nodded to the bed. “You lie there.” Spock frowned, “Jim, it is your turn.” 

“I know, and I’ll be using it, but so will you. There’s no point us being cold separately when we could be slightly warmer together.” 

Spock stared at him.

Kirk looked suddenly doubtful. "Spock – would that be okay? I don’t want to overstep any boundaries here, but if you aren’t sleeping –" he paused.  

Spock looked at him, and at the narrow bed. Jim was so warm. He longed for that source of heat like water after a drought. But they would be very close. He would need to be extremely careful with his mental shields, but if he were asleep – he said, “Jim, at such a physical proximity there might be some – unwitting transference of thoughts or feelings. I would not wish to -” 

Kirk looked at the bed, and back to his first officer. He said, “Brace yourself for a shock, Mister Spock, but I think about the Enterprise. A lot. I dream about her sometimes too.”  

Spock raised a “surely not” eyebrow at him, and Jim laughed, then said, “I’ll take my chances. Come on.” He indicated with his head towards the bed.  

Slowly, carefully, Spock lay stiffly down, with his back to Jim. There was a sudden whomp as Jim deposited two blankets and both coats down on top of him. Then he felt the bed dip, and a solid warmth at his back as Jim shuffled into place and arranged the coverings.  

After a moment, he lay still. Then a voice behind him, said, “Better?”  

Jim’s breath was warm on his neck. He could feel the solid weight of him along his back. He said quietly, “That is – significantly warmer, Captain. Thank you.” 

The warmth of Jim’s chuckle spread from his neck down his spine, and he felt some of tension and chill drain away. Jim said in amusement, “Spock, I think if there was ever a moment to drop the formalities, this would be it.” 

“My apologies, Jim.” 

Kirk’s voice was still amused. “Don’t worry about it.”  

Spock awoke with a sudden sense of alarm. He was being restrained. He was - 

Awareness returned and he blinked rapidly. He was on Earth. In old New York. With Jim. Who was even now sleeping soundly beside him. He lifted the covers very slightly to confirm what his ribcage had already ascertained to be the case. Jim had thrown a restraining arm over him, and shuffled even closer. Spock could feel warm, even breathing against his neck. He considered moving Jim’s arm, but hesitated, lest he disturb the sleeping human. After a moment, he lowered the covers back into place, preserving their little cocoon of heat against the cold outside. This was the easily the warmest he had been since they had arrived on Earth. 

Even though his shields remained in place, they had naturally weakened somewhat with sleep, and he could feel that Jim’s slumber was deep, and undisturbed. The tranquillity of it began to pull him again towards sleep, and he willingly surrendered to that inviting warmth and peace.   

21st Street Mission, New York City, Earth. Stardate: unknown. Terran calendar: January 27th 1930 

Spock stared at the arrangement of primitive materials and tools on the table. Stone knives and bearskins, indeed. Nevertheless, he must make the best of it. And he was making progress. He had just turned back to his task when the door opened, and Edith Keeler’s voice said, “Jim darling, do you have -“ she stopped, just inside the doorway, “Oh, Mister Spock, I’m sorry. I thought Jim was here.” 

“He is not.” She blinked, and he was concerned suddenly that he had sounded rude. He added, “But I am expecting him back shortly. You may – wait here, if you wish.” 

The offer had been half-hearted at best, and he expected her to refuse, but to his surprise, after a glance behind her, she said. “Thank you,” and sat opposite him at the small table.  

Momentarily discombobulated by her presence, he did not immediately continue his work, merely watched as she examined his rudimentary tricorder with interest.  

“What is it?” 

He hesitated for only a moment. “It is – it is going to be – a radio.”  

She looked it over, assessing. “I’ve never seen one like that before. It looks more like one of those, oh what are they called, I saw an article about them the other day.” She frowned in the effort of concentration, then snapped her fingers. “Television. It looks like one of those new – electronic televisions.”  

“That is – very perceptive, Miss Keeler.”  

She raised her eyebrows at him, and lowered her voice. “Try not to sound so surprised, Mister Spock. I do read newspapers, you know.” She broke into a smile. Spock raised an eyebrow at her. He did not wish to like Edith Keeler. Her relationship with Jim was unlikely to end well, and might potentially cause distress to his friend. She was, therefore, an unnecessary and frankly dangerous threat to Jim’s peace of mind.  However, her natural directness, kindness, and not inconsiderable personal charm, against his better judgement, continued to win him over.  

She added, “I’m sorry – I'm disturbing you. Please carry on. I’ll be quiet.”  

He picked up his tools, and continued. True to her word, she did not speak again, until a few more minutes had passed. Then she said, quietly, apropos of nothing, “He’s going to leave, isn’t he?” 

Spock looked at her sharply.  

“Or I should say,” she amended, “you are both going to leave, aren’t you? Because I can’t imagine he’d go without you.” She gave him a slightly sad smile. “His right hand, his – oh, what’s the term for a Captain's main lieutenant?” She looked at him directly, challenging him to contradict her.  

He did not see the point in doing so. “First officer.” 

She nodded. “First officer. Thank you.” They sat in silence for a moment, then she said, still a little sadly, “I bet he’s a good Captain, isn’t he?”  

“He is.”  

She nodded. “Does he have a ship, somewhere, waiting for him?”  

Spock hesitated. They were straying dangerously close to territory that Edith Keeler could not know. However, he was aware that this time in Earths’ history was home to a number of militaries, any one of which they could legitimately be part of. He said, simply, “Yes.”  

“I can’t leave here, you know. I’m needed. There’s work to be done.” She bit her lip, then looked him in the eye. “I don’t suppose – you would stay?” 

“We cannot.”  

She nodded again, and blinked rapidly a few times, keeping her gaze averted.  

Spock said, gently, “I - am sorry.” 

She gave a small huff of laugher. “No, you’re not.” She looked at him again. “You don’t belong here, any more than he does.” They sat in silence for a moment, then she burst out, “Oh, I wish - “  

She stopped herself with a visible effort. “Well, we can’t always have what we want, can we, Mister Spock?” She nodded to herself. “We must be – practical.”  

“Indeed, Miss Keeler.”  

She rose. “I shall simply make the best of it whilst you are here. Tell Jim I was looking for him, won’t you?” 

“I shall, Miss Keeler.” 

She nodded, and left the room abruptly, closing the door behind her.  

That night, Jim did not sleep in their small room, and Spock shivered in the small bed until the dawn light was strong enough to work by.  

21st Street Mission, New York City, Earth. Stardate: unknown. Terran calendar: January 29th 1930 

Jim was restless. Spock was not sure he had slept at all. He wondered whether to speak, but feared to interrupt any sleep that Jim might manage to attain. Even through the shielding he was maintaining at all times to ensure privacy for his Captain, he could feel Jim’s distress.  

As he considered speaking again, Jim rose abruptly from their bed.

“Jim?” 

“Spock, I -” Kirk’s voice was unsteady.  His outline was faint against the curtains.  

He sat up. “What is it?” 

Kirk said, despairingly. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it.” In the dim light, Captain’s face was a picture of misery. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to let her die. Not if – it's in front of me. Not if – I'm right there.” 

Spock rose, and moved to him. “Jim - you must.“ 

“I know.” Kirk snapped. “I know. Don't keep telling me I have to - I know. Do you have any idea how hard that will be?” His voice rose. “Do you even care?” 

Spock’s face tightened and Kirk slumped in defeat. “I’m sorry, Spock, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -” 

He moved closer and gripped Jim’s shoulders gently. “I know.”  

Jim lowered his head, exhausted, until it was resting on Spock’s shoulder. Gently, Spock raised his hands until they were resting against his Captain’s back. They stood quietly together in the near silence of a pre-dawn New York morning, as light began to break through the thin curtains.   

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 4666.55 Terran Calendar: 31st January 2267

Janice Rand briefly sounded the chime at the Captain’s quarters, and then entered without waiting for a reply. The chime was more of a polite formality at this point, a way for her to give him a chance to deny her entry if he was, say, wandering around his quarters half naked. Not that that had ever happened, not after the first time, anyway. And he’d be expecting her now as she’d dropped off his dinner tray an hour before, and this was her usual time to collect it, so she didn’t wait for a reply before entering.  

As she had expected, his dinner tray lay untouched on the end of his desk. Well no, she corrected herself, not quite untouched. The contents of the plate had been disturbed, but Janice had nephews, and she would have bet her post on the Enterprise that he had simply moved the food around to forestall any comment from her on his lack of appetite. Which she had been planning to make; he had snapped at her for commenting the previous evening, but she was undeterred. However, he had now ensured that any comment she made could be refuted. She suppressed a sigh. This was becoming - really quite worrying.  

Everyone knew something had happened on that planet. The one with the ruined city and the spacial distortions. But the only people who knew exactly what were the Captain, Mister Spock, and Doctor McCoy. And they were all tight-lipped. The entire landing party had been sworn to the highest level of secrecy Starfleet possessed. It was an open secret that the planet had emitted time ripples, so figuring out that their command team had been taken somewhere in time, then returned, was hardly the work of Sherlock Holmes, but Uhura had confided in her and Chapel that, even were she able to tell them more, she knew no more. So the source of the Captain’s malaise remained a mystery: to Janice, and to the rest of the crew.  

She lifted the tray and looked down at him. He was reading a report – pretending to read a report – she amended, presumably in the hopes that she would simply remove the tray and go.  

She said, gently, “Can I get you anything else, sir?” 

After a moment, he looked up. He still looked pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. She wondered if he had slept too little, or too much. Even without knowing what had happened, her heart hurt for him.  

He said, “No. Thank you, Yeoman, but no.” And returned to not reading his report.  

Janice bit her lip, then said, “Call me if you think of anything.” 

He nodded without looking up.  

She said, more firmly, “I’m serious, sir. Even if I’m off shift. Even if it’s the middle of the night. Just – call me.”  

He looked up again, and for the first time in three days, he almost smiled. “Thank you, Yeoman.” 

She smiled back, trying to make it look happier than she felt. “Goodnight, Captain. Sleep well.” 

As the doors to his quarters closed behind her, Janice sighed. She would have to talk to someone. This couldn’t go on.  

As if in answer to an unspoken prayer, the ship’s first officer came round the bend in the corridor, obviously heading for his quarters. “Mister Spock!” 

She almost dropped the tray on the deck in her anxiety to speak to him. He waited as she deposited it more carefully, then fell into step with him.  

“Commander, I do hope you don’t feel this is out of line, but I wanted to -” Ensign Toven walked past and she broke off, giving him a nod and a smile. Spock raised a curious eyebrow at her. She lowered her voice. “I wanted to talk to you – about the Captain.” 

His face shuttered almost immediately, and she knew instantly that anything she was about to say was unlikely to come as a surprise. He said quietly, “Would you mind stepping inside for a moment, Yeoman?” 

They were outside his quarters, and she nodded. Under any other circumstances, she would have welcomed the opportunity to look around his personal space, but as they moved inside, she didn’t take her eyes from his face. When the doors had closed, he said briskly, “State your concerns.” 

She didn’t even take a breath. “He’s not eating enough. I’m not sure if he’s sleeping. When I raise anything with him, he snaps at me. He’s just -“ she hesitated. She’d wanted to stick to facts in front of their only Vulcan officer, but “- he’s unhappy, sir. Really unhappy. And – I don’t know what to do to help him. I know you can’t tell me what happened on the planet, it’s classified, I understand, but – do you know if there’s anything I can do? Anything at all?”  

Spock looked at her for long moment, his face unreadable. Then he said, carefully, “I would advise you to continue to do as you have been doing, Yeoman, and report to me as regards the Captain’s habits apropos eating and sleeping, until such time as his routine returns to normal.”  

She nodded slowly. It felt like telling tales out of school, but she didn’t see, in the circumstances, any alternative. If the Captain himself wouldn’t engage with her, going to the person he was closest to on the ship seemed like the best alternative. She said, hopefully, “Do you know – when that might be?” 

He looked away, and then back, as if gauging how much he could tell her. After a moment, he said, “I shall trust you not to repeat this outside this room.” He hesitated, before adding, “The Captain has – suffered a loss. He will require time to assimilate it.” His stern expression gentled slightly. “He has expressed to me in the past how valuable a support you are to him, Yeoman.”  

She blinked. That was a surprise.  

He added, “Please - continue to be so.”  

She nodded, suddenly fighting an unexpected urge to cry. “I will, sir. Thank you.” She turned to leave, then turned back. “And thank you - for trusting me.” 

Spock watched the door close behind Rand in concern. He had known that Jim was unhappy – it was clear to the whole crew that their Captain was not himself. He had turned down all offers of chess, or meals in the rec room, and had retired to his quarters after every shift, claiming pressure of work. Spock had, therefore, been trying to give him space. To grieve, and heal, in private. But he could not continue to stand by and watch Jim suffer without attempting to help him. He followed Rand out of his rooms, and walked down the corridor to the Captain’s quarters. When his chime received no reply, he simply entered anyway.  

Kirk was sitting at his desk, staring into space. At Spock’s entry, he looked up, and sighed.  

“I take it Rand has ratted me out.” 

Spock crossed to the desk and sat. “Yeoman Rand is concerned about your eating habits and sleeping pattern. She was entirely right to raise it with me.”  

“I’m surprised it took her this long.” 

“She is very protective of your privacy.”  

Kirk looked away. “She’s a good yeoman. I was – a bit sharp with her yesterday. I’ll apologise.” 

Spock said, “Jim -” 

Kirk cut him off, “I just – I need time, Spock, that’s all. Okay? Just – some time, I -” He took a deep breath. 

“Are you sleeping?”  

“Yes.” 

“Jim. Please don’t make me fetch Doctor McCoy to verify the truth of that statement.” 

Kirk rubbed his eyes. “Damn, Spock, that’s dirty pool.” 

“Nevertheless -” 

“Yes.” Kirk snapped. “Yes, I’m sleeping. And would you like to know what happens when I do?” 

“Jim-” 

“I dream, or rather I have a nightmare. Would you like to know what about? Actually, you can probably guess.” 

“Jim -” 

“Her. Every time I sleep, I hear her scream. Although, not always, sometimes she cries out for me to help her. And I don’t. I just – stand there. And she dies. So no, I’m not sleeping. Because I don't want to hear her die again.” His voice had raised to a near shout, but now he slumped back into the desk chair, exhausted and defeated, and said quietly, “Does that answer your question?” 

Spock hesitated. “Jim - you must rest. Perhaps if you were to speak to Doctor McCoy -” 

“And say what? Hey, Bones, you know that woman I stopped you from saving, the one I loved? Well, I’m having bad dreams about her, can you help?” Kirk's tone was scathing. 

“He would – he does - understand.”  

"Well I’m not sure I do." Kirk leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk, resting his head in his hands.  

When he didn’t move for some moments, Spock said, carefully, “Jim, there is a Vulcan technique, it would involve – the touching of minds -” 

Kirk snapped, “No.”Spock blinked. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to make this better. I should be grieving her. I should be unhappy. It’s the very least she deserves.”

He waved a hand towards the walls of his quarters. “There’s a whole galaxy of people out there who owe her their lives, and they don’t even know her name. And here I am, getting on with my life like nothing happened. My grief, Spock? Barely seems adequate, if you want the truth.” 

Spock looked at him, barely concealing his own concern at his captain’s distress. “Jim - you are taking too much on yourself.” 

“I’m really not.” it was barely a whisper, as Jim looked away.  

Silence fell between them. Spock looked at his captain, at the desk piled with work, at the ship around them.  

He said quietly, “Then take the time to grieve her. In peace.”  

Kirk looked at him in confusion.  

Spock said gently, “On my world the nights are very long. My people know there is always time enough for everything. You could – come with me. For a rest. You would be comfortable there.” 

Kirk looked at him, almost stricken, then said softly, “All the time in the world –” 

“And filled with tomorrows.” 

Suddenly, the bitterness welled up again. “Not for her. For us, but not for her. She was negligible.” 

“No, Jim, she was not. Her death saved uncountable billions of people. Both the living and the yet unborn. Far from negligible.  

Kirk’s eyes were full. “I failed her. I didn’t save her. And I loved her.”  

“No, Jim, no.” Spock’s heart ached for him. “You acted. No woman was ever loved as much. Because no other woman was almost offered the universe for love.” 

Jim dropped his gaze to his desk, moved his hand across his eyes. He didn’t look up for a long time.  

Spock sat with him in the heavy silence.  

Eventually, Kirk straightened.

His voice was a little firmer as he said, “The, er, the ship is due for a minor refit of the engine room the week after next. We’ll be stopping at starbase twelve for a few days. It’s only a dozen light years or so from Vulcan. You could – you could go home then. If you liked.” 

 Spock said, gently, “And - you would be-?”   

Kirk moved a padd on his desk. He said, “I should oversee the refit.”  

“Mister Scott is more than capable.” 

Kirk gave a huff that could almost have been a laugh. “I imagine Mister Scott would be tremendously grateful to anyone who stopped me looking over his shoulder.” 

“Mister Scott has averred for some time that I owe him a favour.”  

Kirk looked at him, with what was nearly a smile. “Well, that’s a story I’ll want to hear sometime.”  

Silence fell again. Spock said, “As the Enterprise will not be undertaking any critical missions, there would be no objection to our being off the ship at the same time. I could make all the necessary arrangements.” 

Kirk nodded slowly, his eyes on the desk. After a moment, he said, “Alright. Alright, Mister Spock. If it will make you happy. And keep Bones off my back.” He looked up at his first officer. “I'll clear it with command. Make your arrangements.”  

Spock blinked. He had not truly expected Kirk to comply. Aloud he said, “Thank you, Captain. I shall do so.” When nothing more was forthcoming, he rose. As he reached the door, he said, “Shall I ask Yeoman Rand to return with some food?” 

Kirk said mildly, “Don’t push it.” But his demeanour was slightly lighter in a way that made Spock’s heart lift in turn. 

He left Kirk's quarters. By the time he returned to his rooms, he knew where they would go. There was one place, on all Vulcan, that never failed to bring him peace, or relief from emotional pain. He would take Jim there. It was the least he could do. 

Notes:

A couple of lines of Kirk and Spock's dialogue at the very end here are taken from Harlan Ellison's original shooting script for City on the Edge of Forever (cut from the show, which I have edited slightly because his Spock is even softer than mine - I know, right?!), and from James Blish's simply wonderful adaptations of the episodes. (Which, if you haven't read them - why are you reading this rubbish?! Go, read, come back! Who knows, by the time you get through them all, I might have finished rewriting the Amok Time chapter....)

Okay, speaking of, I know there was a plan. But once again, my muse has looked at my careful planning, and laughed. Kirk was not supposed to agree to go to Vulcan. He was supposed to be touched by the offer, and refuse. It's this sort of reckless disobedience to my writing plans that got a building unexpectedly dropped on him in the Thousandth Man. Anyway, I guess they'll be one more chapter before the blood fever hits because we are, apparently, going to Vulcan first. *Sighs*

Chapter 10: Interlude - Time out of time

Summary:

Scenes set during Generations.

Scenes set between City on the Edge of Forever, and Amok Time.

Notes:

So you know that thing, where you write something, and you think 'this is great' then you read it the next day, and it’s godawful? That happened a lot with this chapter. Rewrites and edits aplenty, and I’m still not happy, but if we waited until I was happy we’d still be on Chapter 1.

All the same, I have some chronic doubt about the way I've structured this chapter so if it doesn't work for you, and you think the two separate past and future sections should be together for clarity or so forth, let me know.

Also, y’all only have yourselves to blame that this update is a few days later than planned, because there were such amazing, generous comments on the last chapters, I had to respond to them all instead of, you know, actually writing anything. :D (Which is in no way me discouraging commenting! Comments are life!)

Seriously though, I’m just so touched by how utterly lovely and invested you are. This is starting to feel like more of a team effort than just me scribbling away in isolation!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

I could recognize him   

By touch alone.  

I would know him blind  

By the way his breaths came  

And his feet struck the earth. 

I would know him in death  

At the end of the world.  

- The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller 

 

 

I could recognize him.....by touch alone....  

 

 

Vulcan, Stardate 4918.61 (Terran calendar: 7th March, 2267)  

James Kirk looked around him in mild disbelief as he walked. When Spock had suggested this trip to Vulcan, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting. But it had definitely involved – relaxation. Not luxury, perhaps – these were Vulcans, after all - but possibly a nice hotel. Or a beach. Even a logical sort of bar. Not a lengthy shuttle ride to the edge of some minor mountain range, then a long, exhausting hike up into what genuinely appeared to be the middle of nowhere. At least Spock had forewarned him that his packing would need to be portable, so he’d travelled light, even by Starfleet standards.  

The heat wasn’t quite as oppressive as he’d feared – Spock had told him that the truly hot season had yet to begin, and Jim experienced a wave of relief that they’d be gone before it started. Even mild heat on Vulcan was almost insufferably hot when you were hiking through it for much of the day. He supposed the area Spock had chosen for their leave helped with the temperature too. He, like most non-Vulcans in the Federation, had a vague idea that Vulcan consisted almost entirely of tall, shining, logically arranged cities and spaceports, and barren, fierce mountains and desert, with nothing in between. The area they were currently traversing belied that assumption. It was far from barren, for a start. It was covered in wild Vulcan flora, that seemed to be happily flourishing in open defiance of the heat and apparent lack of water.  

The highest peaks of the mountain range they were passing through soared away in the distance to his left. Spock had replied to his slightly anxious question, with quiet amusement, that they would not be going so far. Jim had hidden his relief with limited success. The area they were currently passing through, although lower, and less steep, was quite enough of a hiking challenge.  

He took a breath, and halted his ascent, staring around. He had a feeling, if he could have seen anything, that the view would have been impressive. However, they’d now gone high enough that a haze lay over the landscape beneath, obscuring his view. Spock was a few meters ahead, moving lightly from rock to rock. He watched his first officer with an affectionate smile. He looked the very definition of a man in his element.  

Kirk realized, suddenly and with surprise, that he was – almost enjoying himself. The exertion of the climb had taken his mind away from his grief. From the deaths of Edith, and Sam, and Aurelan. From the clouds that hung over him, and the painful mortality that seemed to follow wherever he went.

And the freedom from duty that leave from Enterprise involved had lightened his mental load to the point where he was starting to feel - something like himself again.  

He called ahead, “Spock!” 

The Vulcan turned, and something deep in Jim’s chest gave an odd little flutter. The suns of this alien world were beginning to sink towards the horizon, and framed his first officer like a statue of a truly wild, ancient warrior. Spock had once told him tales of pre-reform Vulcan, and he had found their violence and passion hard to reconcile with the cool, logical man before him. But now, framed in the shadows of the mountain, out of uniform, with his hair awry, and his dark eyes reflecting the sunlight of this desert world, Spock looked as if he could have stepped from those tales.  

After a moment, he said, “I’m, er,” he cleared his dry throat, “I’m not complaining or anything, but is it far? Wherever we’re camping?”  

Spock had been remarkably unforthcoming about the details of this trip, but to be fair, he hadn’t really asked, just let him make all the arrangements.  

Spock came back towards him, jumping lightly from the nearest rock, to end in front of him. “It is not. However, if you are fatigued, it would be fine to rest here for up to thirty-seven minutes. We have made excellent time.” 

Jim adjusted his pack, and essayed a smile. “Nope, I’m good. Let’s go.” 

An hour later, he was slightly regretting his haste. Their route had become steeper, and their path narrower. They were rounding the side of a mountain, walking into the waning suns. Kirk screwed up his eyes against their glow, not as fierce as he’d feared, but still almost directly in his face. He was starting to be slightly concerned about the locale of their camp. He was all for exploration, but if they were going to be bedding down on this path, there was a fair chance of him just rolling off it in the night, straight over the severe drop into the valley to his right. He was about to hail Spock again, when the Vulcan rounded a bend in the path ahead, and left his sight. Jim hurried to catch up, but when he reached the curve and looked around it, Spock had disappeared. Jim blinked, and glanced around. The path had widened slightly into a kind of rest area, but there was nothing there that could hide a fully grown man. Other than the drop to his right. But surely, he’d have heard – almost without his conscious violation, his voice raised in an anxious, “Spock!" 

“I am here, Jim.” He stepped from behind a large rock to Kirk’s immediate left. From Jim’s angle, it had appeared to be flush to the rockface that rose severely towards the sky. He stepped around it curiously, hiding his sudden relief. Behind the rock, a partially concealed opening led further into the cliff. Ducking his head, Kirk followed Spock into the space beyond.  

Almost immediately, the ceiling rose away from him, and he was able to stand with comfortable clearance above his head. The space in front of him opened out and away, to reveal a cave, only slightly smaller than his quarters on the Enterprise. The temperature was immediately, blessedly, cooler than the dry heat outside. The floor was sand and straw, and the interior was still dimly lit by the waning suns. The overall effect was homely, and oddly welcoming.  

Jim turned to Spock. “Is this where we’re camping?” 

“If that is – acceptable?” 

“Actually, It's great. I was worried you were going to make me bivouac on the path.” 

Spock frowned. “That would be most unsafe. The winds can be strong in the mountains at night.”  

Jim dropped his backpack in relief. “Well, that, and the strong possibility of me rolling off.”  

Spock blinked in consternation. “May I suggest you take a sleeping area towards the rear of the cave?”  

Jim was already exploring their small abode. “Is there a way out back here?” 

Spock joined him at the small opening. “Not a way out, it leads deeper into the mountain. There is a water system, including a small river, and a quite remarkably deep lake.” 

Kirk looked at him in surprise. “Inside the mountain?” 

“Yes. It is replenished in the rainy season. Water seeps through cracks in the rocks and into the mountain, away from the suns, so it is not evaporated.” 

“Hold on. There’s a rainy season?” 

“In this province? Yes.” Spock gave him a vaguely chastising look. “Not all of Vulcan is desert, Jim.” 

“Well, no, I mean, yeah. I knew that.” He gave his friend a lopsided smile. “I’m gonna go have a look.” He moved towards the darker area through the narrow opening.  

To his surprise, Spock laid a gentle, restraining hand on his arm and said firmly. “Perhaps later. Now, we will set up our camp, and eat, before the suns go down.” 

Kirk raised his eyebrows at him. “Is this you giving me an order?” 

Spock blinked. “It - was a suggestion merely, based upon -” 

Kirk couldn’t hold his straight face. “Spock, I’m kidding.” He smiled at his first officer, and laid a hand on his arm in turn. “On this trip, you are absolutely giving the orders. God knows, even I get tired of it sometimes.” His smile slipped slightly.  

Spock said quickly, “In that case, Mister Kirk, I would like you set up the sleeping area, whilst I deal with our repast.” 

Kirk assumed a serious expression. “Aye, sir, Mister Spock, sir.” He slipped into a grin, then suddenly laughed. “It's like being a midshipman again.” 

They set to their respective tasks with a will.  

“Jim.” 

 "Jim."

A gentle hand touched his arm, agitated it slightly. “Jim.” 

Kirk came to awareness with the speed of a man used to being woken, but who nevertheless hadn’t slept nearly long enough. For a moment he couldn’t recall his surroundings. The voice was familiar though. “Spock? Everything okay?” 

“All is well, Jim.”  

Vulcan. Camping. The cave. Which was still dark around them.  

“What time is it?” 

“A little before dawn. The suns will rise shortly.” He became aware of dim light beside him. In its glow, Spock was crouching next to his sleeping bag. Jim stared at him. “Dawn? You want to go somewhere now?”  

“Only outside the cave. Come.” He stood, and moved towards the entrance.  

Jim stumbled to his feet and threw his friend’s retreating back the baleful look of a man who very rarely got a chance to lie in, and had been quite looking forward to the opportunity. The temperature had dropped noticeably in the night, and he shivered suddenly as he left the warm cocoon of his sleeping bag. As he stepped outside, Spock wordlessly handed him a blanket, and they sat side by side, backs against the cliff, looking out into a dark valley that was slowly lightening before their eyes.  

Jim huddled into the unexpected warmth of his blanket, and yawned. He had no idea what this was about, but in lieu of a red alert, there was a good chance he’d just fall back to sleep sitting up. The previous evening, he’d found Bones' surprise 'medicinal' flask in the bottom of his bag, and he could still feel the pleasant buzz through his system of just slightly too much bourbon.  

In front of him, the world started to change color as the first of Vulcan’s suns almost crested the horizon. The sky began to unroll before him like a living oil painting – first a deep scarlet, then a spectacular, glorious orange, then finally a warm, vibrant gold. Jim felt some of his tiredness begin to slip away at the sight.  

He was about pass a quiet comment on the beauty of the view before them, when Vulcan’s second sun neared the horizon. An entire quarter of the sky to their right changed color, and a fierce, dominating red began to reclaim its territory. As the advancing red mixed with the dawning light of the first sun, the entire horizon seemed aflame. The sky above their heads was now a dark, depthless blue, replacing the black, and already, tendrils of red light were beginning to burn at its edges. 

Kirk stared in quiet awe. The colors streaked across the sky, every shade imaginable and some he had never even dreamed. He tilted his head to see the sky above them. Dimly, stars were still visible, in open defiance of the advancing storm of light.  

He looked down again. The light had reached the mountains, but the depths of the valley were still dark. He watched as the light crept closer, down the edges of the mountains on either side. Then it happened. The first of the golden light hit the lowest point of the valley, and a flame of gold ignited. It spread like fire towards them, a river of golden light that lit the earth around it, and shone like precious metal in the riotous colours of the sky.

Against the beauty before him, Jim forgot his grief, his ship, and all the complexities of his life. He felt, for the first time in a long while, as if there were nothing in the galaxy but this extraordinary moment, against which he was an insignificant part of an incredible whole.  He realised he was holding his breath.

They sat for a long while in the dawn silence, as the heavens treated them to a celestial show of unparalleled, moving, beauty.  

Eventually Jim said, quietly, “Spock, is this – do people come and see this?” 

Spock said, matching his quiet, reverential tone, “Not to my knowledge. As you experienced, it is difficult to access.” 

“How did – how did you know it was here?”  

There was the barest hesitation, then Spock said, “I stumbled across it, many years ago.” 

“Hiking holiday?” 

“No.” After a silence, Spock said, ”I had – run away from home.”  

Kirk tore his eyes from the view and looked at his friend. “You? Ran away from home? Why?” 

“My father had informed me that I would not be admitted to attend Starfleet Academy. I had passed all of the entrance tests. The academy had made it known they were enthusiastic at the notion of a Vulcan joining Starfleet. But my father – refused to countenance it. I had also passed the examinations to enter the Vulcan Science Academy. They were impressed with my performance. Apparently, my combined scores were - a record at that time. It was a foregone conclusion that I would attend.” 

“But you didn’t.” Kirk stared at him, as the light around them brightened.  Spock’s face was shadowed in red and gold.  

“As I have previously relayed to you, my father and I – disagreed on the subject. So I packed a bag and left. I realized that I would need some time to consider what I wanted to do.”  

“Join Starfleet. Against his wishes.” 

“Yes. I came to the mountains to think. To consider if I truly wished to leave behind all I had known, and live amongst alien strangers. I passed a number of nights here, and one sleepless night, I saw - this.” He nodded towards the panorama in front of them.  

Jim took it in again, then looked back to his friend. “How close was it? Did you seriously consider – not joining Starfleet?” 

“Yes.” Spock looked thoughtful with remembrance. “Merely to study at the VSA is considered an achievement. My scores indicated that I would do well. Bring honour to my family name. I was not insensible to the merits of that idea. It would be a chance to prove, once and for all, that I was every bit as Vulcan as my peers, if not more so.” He cast a slightly abashed glance at Kirk. “It was – not logical.”  

Kirk smiled. “Sounds pretty logical to me.  But - what made you decide for Starfleet?” 

Spock hesitated for a long moment. “I had privately considered the possibility from the moment I first heard of Starfleet, but in all honesty, I – cannot truly recall. I remember - sitting here all night, turning it over in my mind, making endless arguments with myself for and against each choice. Looking to the stars.”

His voice had quietened with the effort of recall, and Kirk listened in fascination. “Eventually I believe I was so tired that I simply – stopped thinking. Then the suns rose. And I knew where I would go.”  

“How old were you?” 

“Nineteen.” 

Jim drew his blanket around him. “I don’t like the thought of you out here, on your own, making a decision like that.” 

Spock gave him his almost smile. “There was no one to whom I could speak.” 

The otherworldly dawn light had crept around them as they talked, and Kirk could see his friend clearly now. The idea that a younger, torn version of Spock could have chosen differently, all those years ago, did not bear thinking about. He said suddenly, “Where were you sitting?” 

“Jim?” 

“Where were you sitting? When you decided.” 

Spock looked around him in mild confusion, then indicated a space on the ground, next to Kirk. “I believe, here. But why-“ 

Jim said, “I read a book once. Purported the theory that time is actually an illusion. That really everything is happening at once, and our minds simply filter it into an illusion of time, so we don’t get overwhelmed.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“In which case,” Jim continued, “nineteen-year-old you is here now, and I think he needs to hear another opinion on the issue.”  

A second eyebrow joined the first.  

And maybe it was bourbon, or sleep deprivation, but Jim cleared his throat, and addressed the air next to him with a serious air. “Spock? Nineteen-year-old S’chn T’gai Spock, out on the lam? You don’t know me, and you won’t for a few years yet, but listen up, this is important. I know everything is against it right now, but you need to join Starfleet. Because It will be immeasurably poorer without you. And you’ll be setting a trail for others to follow. You’ll be the first Vulcan to attend the Academy, but not the last.  

“My name is James Kirk, and I’m a Captain in Starfleet. It’s 2267 right now, and you’re my first officer, and frankly, at this point, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You are the finest officer - the finest person - I know. And that incredible mind of yours? Don’t worry, we’ll put it to use. And not just in research, and study – in saving lives. Mine, my crews, many times over. We need you. I know it’s a big ask, Spock, and I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but - I need you. Come to Earth. Join Starfleet.  I’ll be waiting.”  

He looked up at his friend, who was watching him with an oddly vulnerable expression of bemusement.  

“There. The other side of the argument. It’s only fair. And – you’re here. So, it worked.”  

“Jim, I believe you to be possibly inebriated, and definitely sleep deprived.”  

Kirk fought a yawn. “Well, yes. Doesn’t make it any less true though.” He gave his friend a lopsided smile. “And that -” he gestured to the vista before them, “was absolutely worth losing sleep over.” His smile warmed. “Thank you. For everything. But especially this.”  

Spock didn’t reply for a long moment, and then he said, in a quiet voice, “You are most welcome, Jim.”  

Kirk fought another yawn.  

Spock added, “We have no duties today. And you appear to be still tired. It would be logical to avail yourself of the opportunity to asleep.” 

Jim said, with a half smile, “I might do that, actually. Some more shuteye couldn’t hurt.”  

“I believe Doctor McCoy would concur.”  

He shuffled to his feet, laying an affectionate hand on his first officer’s shoulder as he passed, returned to his sleeping bag, and fell asleep in minutes.  

They spent the day exploring the surrounding area, and the water system. Kirk insisted on swimming in the underground lake, to Spock’s mild consternation, but no amount of persuasion could make him join in.  

Evening found Jim outside the cave again, fed and watered, and watching the beginnings of a sunset, which, whilst not as spectacular as the morning’s effort, still promised to be impressive. He glanced back at the mouth of their cave, wondering if he should hurry Spock’s meditation along so he didn’t miss it. Although given what Spock’s mind was capable of, resting it in meditation seemed like something that shouldn’t be interrupted. He thought again of that – what had Spock called it? The mind meld. He had intended to speak to Spock further about that, but events had got in the way. He turned his thoughts to it now. He still couldn’t see any flaw in his reasoning for why they should meld. And this would be the perfect time to raise it. Relaxed, off duty, no pressure. 

When Spock emerged from their cave, half an hour later, Jim had had thirty minutes to come up with a way to work the meld subtly into conversation. And had failed. As Spock took his place in front of their view, he decided to simply broach the matter head on.  

He said, “You know, I’ve, er, I’ve been thinking.” 

Spock looked across at him expectantly.  

“D’you remember, after the Tantalus colony, we talked about the mind meld? And, well, I was there for the incident with the Horta.” 

“I recall.” 

Kirk cleared his throat. “So, it occurred to me, like I said before, that - melding - could be really useful. And I’m thinking particularly of you being able to tell, without a doubt, that the person you are talking to is me. I mean, we’re barely eighteen months into a five-year mission, and I’ve been duplicated twice. It’s hardly a reassuring precedent for the next three years.” 

Spock said slowly, “Indeed.” 

“Right, so you can see the advantage of you knowing exactly what my mind is like – I mean, I’m assuming here that they are like fingerprints, no two the same, right?” 

“I would aver that minds are far more distinguishable.” 

“Great. Even better.” He added, encouraged, “And you said it might be possible to teach me the basics of defending my mind against attack, I mean, again, if the last year is anything to go by, that would be valuable too.” 

"That -  is so."

When nothing further was forthcoming, Kirk said, uncertainly, “Spock, this is in no way, shape, or form, an order. I know this is a deeply personal thing to Vulcans, and if you don’t want to, that’s reason enough not to do it, I just thought I’d suggest it.” 

After a silent moment, when Jim wondered if he’d said something wildly inappropriate, Spock said, “You would wish – to meld with me?” 

“Yes.” 

“When we return to the ship?” 

“I was thinking more – now, actually.” 

Spock stared. “Now?” 

“No time like the present, and all that.” He essayed a hopeful smile. “And I’d rather the first time we did this not be in the middle of a red alert, or something.” 

Spock said, uncertainly, “The first time?” 

“Oh, I mean,” Kirk felt himself almost flush. “You know, in case we ever have to – er, again. And you have suggested it, in the past -” he broke off.  

Spock looked concerned. “Jim, I would never force a meld upon you, and in the circumstances of you being replaced, it is highly likely any duplicate would refuse the mind touch.” 

Kirk spread his hands. “And that in itself would be confirmation. Because I wouldn’t.”  

Spock blinked, “Jim, you cannot state that with any certainty. Humans find the mind touch invasive -”  

Kirk made a noise of irritation. “Spock, we’re not talking about anyone. We’re talking about you, and me. If you asked, because you had a reasonable suspicion of my identity, what possible justification could I have to refuse? Especially if we’d done it already, and I knew what to expect?” 

“Perhaps you would have information you desired to protect.” 

“You’re going to show me how to do that.” 

Spock said, uncertainly, “Jim, I understand the argument you are making, and it is not without validity, but you are correct, the meld is a private thing, and – you are quite certain you should wish to undertake it, with me, for the reasons you have stated?” 

“Absolutely.” He eyed his first officer, suddenly uncertain. “But, obviously, only if you want to, as well.” 

“I would not be – unamenable.” 

“That sounded like Vulcan for yes.” Kirk grinned. “Great.” He looked at Spock expectantly. “So then. What do we do?” 

Spock blinked, and cleared his throat. “We must sit closer, facing each other. Please relax as much as you are able, and clear your mind to the best of your ability. I will - initiate a surface meld, when you indicate that you are ready.” 

Kirk shuffled himself round, so he was facing his first officer, trying to ignore the way his heartrate had kicked up, and his palms had decided to sweat. Spock reseated himself more elegantly.  

Kirk took a few deep breaths, quashing a sudden spike of anxiety. When it was gone, he nodded. “Right. I’m good.” 

Spock slowly reached across the small gap  towards his friend's face. Kirk was watching him closely. He withdrew his hand slightly, and said, “Jim, it is – traditional – to close one's eyes during a meld to allow the focus to be entirely inward.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Kirk closed his eyes.  

Spock took a slow, centring breath, and once again reached for his friend. As he did so, Kirk’s left eye cracked open. He stopped.  

“Jim-”  

“Just checking you were still there.” Kirk quirked a smile at him, then closed his eyes again.  

Spock suppressed amusement, and the oddly nervous sensation in his gut. This would be a light meld only, with a stable, familiar mind. There was no cause for concern.  

He reached for his friend again. As his fingers were about to light on Jim’s skin, he felt it. An odd energy pulsed between his fingers and the skin beneath them. Like a touching an electrical field, or opening a working plasma conduit. He hesitated. He had the strangest sensation that closing that tiny gap would complete an exposed, waiting circuit, the consequence of which he was at a loss to understand.  

Before him, Jim released a quiet, steadying breath, and Spock realised with sudden relief that Jim was nervous too. Chiding himself for his foolishness in delaying, he pressed his fingers lightly into place against the warm skin beneath them, and closed his eyes.  

My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.  

 

Rateg City, Romulus, Stardate: 48597.28 (Terran Calendar: 7th June 2371)  

Spock sent a final message, then lowered the console back into the desk. All was arranged. His contacts on Romulus had not been happy. Palena had cried. Her husband, Toven, had been more stoic, but there had been a tremble in his voice as he said his farewell. It occurred to Spock that they had, perhaps, been more emotionally invested in his presence here than he had ever realised.   

No matter. Their movement would continue, with or without him. A stronger relationship between their peoples seemed closer now. He was almost sorry he would not live to see it. He rose slowly to his feet, crossed to the narrow bed, and sank down onto its marginally more comfortable surface with relief. He would meditate for a short time, then sleep.   

He leaned back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. One of the few advantages of his oncoming time was that he no longer felt the cold as bitterly as he had. The embers of pon farr had begun to glow, and with them, the bone deep cold was no longer so acute.  It was, ironically, a relief.   

He estimated he had about fourteen days before he was past the point of no return. More than enough time to get to Vulcan. Fourteen days. Two Earth weeks. How strange, to know the span of one’s remaining time in this universe.   

He would have enough time to put his remaining affairs in order when he reached Vulcan. There was no-one left now who would mourn his passing deeply enough to be concerned about. He thought, briefly, of Saavik, and resolved to write to her upon his return to Vulcan. It was the least he could do. And his worldly goods, such as they were, would be hers to dispose of as she wished.   

As he slipped towards a meditative state, he allowed, as he never usually did, his mind to wander. It went, inevitably, to his first bondmate. His T’hy’la. He allowed the indulgence. What did it matter now? James Kirk. Smiling at him. Laughing. On the bridge of the Enterprise. In their apartment in San Francisco. On the surface of some alien world. Always driven, always passionate, always with his eyes on the stars. Reaching back for him. Come on, Spock. He had no certain knowledge that he would see Jim again, but it had seemed to him for some time now that he had earned the right. That no universe, however dark, however cruel, would leave him in this isolation forever. He would see Jim again. See him smile. Hear his voice. Soon. There was no way it could be otherwise.   

He distracted himself for a moment, imagining what Jim’s first words to him could be, after almost eighty years of silence. Perhaps – You took your time. His bondmate had always had a slightly inappropriate sense of humor, even in their worst situations. Perhaps - I missed you. He had been romantic too, in his overtly emotional, human way. Perhaps -  

“It’s freezing in here.”   

Spock frowned to himself. That did not seem likely -   

“This room is – not good.”   

Spock opened his eyes.  

James Kirk was standing on the other side of his small room, looking around him in mild irritation. “Why don’t you even have a heater?” He shot a severe look at the seated Vulcan. “You’re terrible in the cold, you know you are. You hate it. And It’s like being cuddled by an icicle.”  

Spock stared in frozen shock. This was the Jim of his most recent memories, not the young Captain his mind had conjured two days ago, but the older Captain he had been just before -   

“Where are we, anyway?”  

It was a simple enough question to answer. Spock croaked, almost automatically, around a sudden severe constriction in his throat, “Romulus.”  

Kirk’s head snapped round. He stopped his hunt for a source of warmth, came a little closer, and lowered his voice. “What the hell are we doing on Romulus?”   

Spock closed his eyes. It must be a side effect of the oncoming fever, combined with exhaustion, and emotional stress. It wouldn’t be the first time his pon farr had taken him by surprise. The first time, in fact, he had been troublingly slow to realize its presence at all.   

“Spock. Are we safe here?”  

This was, without a doubt, the most realistic manifestation his subconscious had ever created. Strange, that it should happen now. He had  hallucinated in the past, but always under the influence of some pathogen, or illness. And never during his time. He breathed deeply once, and then again, centering himself. 

Spock. Are we safe?”  

He opened his eyes. Far from disappearing, Jim was looking at him, impatient, waiting for an answer. He said, entirely without conscious intervention, “Yes, this area is secure.”   

Kirk nodded. “Good. So. Back to my first question. Why are we here?”  

Spock wondered if the entire last fourteen days of life would be interspersed with visions of his dead bondmate. At least a part of him hoped so, although if this was some hallucination designed by his mind to ease his passing, he wondered why it was so concerned with his location. And the temperature. However, he had spent many years of his life trying to answer every question James Kirk posed, so it was with force of old habit that he heard himself say, “I have been seeking the unification of the Romulan and Vulcan peoples.”   

Kirk stared at him for a long moment in disbelief. Then laughed. He looked away, ran a hand across his face, and looked back to Spock. “Of course, you have. First the Klingons, now the Romulans. It’s the logical next step.”   

Spock blinked. “Indeed.”  

Kirk laughed again, and shook his head. “So. Setting aside for the moment the likelihood of that happening – what do you need from me?”   

“Jim?”  

“Why am I here, Spock?”  

“I - I do not know.”  

They stared at each other for a long moment. Spock felt the cold air of the room on the back of his neck, and an unsettled sensation around his heart. This was Jim. His T’hy’la. A product of his own feverish imagination, and desperate dreams. Why did he not know all that Spock knew? Why did he – question?   

The younger Kirk of two days ago had asked no questions, merely gazed at him as he once had in life – like Spock was the shining centre of all that was wonderful in the universe. This Kirk – was challenging him. As he had also done in life. But it seemed – wrong, somehow. After all this time, should not his Jim – even a fantasy of Jim - be – pleased to see him? Be once again the source of warmth and love that had been absent for so many long, empty years?  

Then Kirk squinted at him, and frowned. He said, suddenly, “Spock – you look – are you okay?”  

It crossed his mind not to answer, to simply lie down and sleep until the vision went away. But he could not. This was Jim, and he found he no longer cared for the hardness of reality, or the effect of the fever. If this fantasy of Jim wanted answers, he could have them.  

“I am in the early stages of pon farr.”  

Kirk blinked in surprise, and then his face broke into a relieved smile. “Spock, why didn’t you just say so? That explains it, then.” His eyes slid down to where Spock was sitting. “Please tell me there’s another bed.” He walked across, leaned down, and eyed the thin mattress with distain. “This isn’t a bed, it’s a shelf. We’ve got to do better than this. I’m not as young as I used to be.” Closer now, he met his bondmate’s eyes, and his smile faded slightly. “And - neither are you.”   

He straightened. Stared hard at Spock’s face. “How – how old are you?”  

“One hundred and forty-one.”  

Kirk took a step back. His smile had vanished entirely, and in its place was a look of suspicion. “No. No, that’s not right. You’ve never been older than sixty-three.”  

Sixty-three. He had been sixty-three at the time of Jim’s death. The realisation came unbidden and made his response harsher than intended. “I have been older than sixty-three for seventy-eight years.”  

Kirk looked at him in disbelief. “No, you haven’t.”  

Spock snapped, “This is illogical. You are a product of my imagination. You therefore know my status. You can clearly see my age. I fail to see the benefit of this hallucination.” He closed his eyes again. He merely needed to centre himself, to -   

What? I’m not a product of your imagination.” He opened his eyes to see Jim looking at him in irritation. “I don’t know how this works exactly, but somehow, you’re a product of mine, and you are sixty-three. Sometimes. I think. You have been. Dammit. Why can’t I remember?”  

He walked away from the bed and slumped into the desk chair. “It’s going wrong again. This always happens. Not usually this fast though.” He dropped his head into his hands.   

Spock felt, for one of the few times in his life, like he was out of his depth. But, as in those times too, there was something here he could cling to. James Kirk needed his help. He said, uncertainly, “What has gone wrong?”   

Kirk looked up. “Let me guess, hold on.” He raised his hand. “You’re in pon farr. And we’re on Romulus. For some inexplicable reason, but I’ll roll with it. It’s different, at least. So, what happens now? We have sex, but when we should meld, it’s, oh sorry, Jim, I’m old now, so no bonding? I’m assuming that’ll be the excuse, anyway.” He jumped to his feet, addressing the ceiling of Spock’s small room. “I’ve had enough, do you hear me? I want Spock. The real one. I want out of here.”  

“Jim, who are you talking to? Where is here?”  

Kirk rounded on him. “I don’t know!” His shoulders slumped, and he repeated, more quietly. “I don’t know. I think – I think it’s starting to mess with my memory. Sometimes – I'm getting close to figuring something out, and then – everything changes again, and you’re different, and I’m no closer to an answer.” He thumped the nearest wall with the side of his fist. “Stop showing me what I can’t have! ”   

Spock watched him in increasing concern. Jim – or whoever, whatever, this was – was distressed. This could not be borne. He said, as firmly as he could manage, “Jim, what is it you want? Let me help.”  

Kirk turned to him. “You.” Spock saw, with distress, that Jim was close to tears. “I just - want - you. I’ve had everything else. Done everything else. Anything I’ve ever wanted. But – I want you. I always have. And I keep seeing you. Over, and over. But it’s just – your body, and sometimes, a glimpse of your mind, but – your soul, Spock. It’s not there. When we’re together, when we meld, it’s just - “ he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness, “it’s just – empty.” He gazed at his lover in despair. “I miss you. So much.”  

Spock felt a wave of grief threaten his equilibrium. He said roughly, “And I, you, ashayam.”  

Kirk gave a huff of bitter laughter. “Yeah, you would say that. You always say the right things.”  

“Jim, I have missed your smile, your voice, your body, your mind, and your soul, for seventy-eight years.” As he spoke, his voice grew louder. Years of pent up anger, and grief, and loss, “I lived every day in the knowledge that my T'hy’la is dead. That no bond could be as strong, that no-one else could be to me what you have been. And now you come to me, and accuse me of absence? Of retaining from you my soul? Jim, I did not. I have not. It is now, and always has been, yours. I would have given it for you gladly, but I was not the one who died.” He was aware that his control was beginning to slip. The last words were almost shouted. An accusation.    

Deeply unfair. Entirely illogical. But true.   

Kirk’s eyes had gone wide. He whispered, “I’m not dead. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what’s happening – but I know that. I’m not dead, Spock.”   

Emotion threatened to overwhelm him. “Jim. The bond – broke.” Searing pain, worse than anything he had ever felt before, or since.  “You - were - gone.”   

They stared at each other for long moments. Years, decades of memories swirled between them. Nights of love, and passion, days of friendship, of loyalty, and loss. Long, empty years of grief.    

Suddenly, almost desperately, Jim said, “Meld with me.”  

Agonizing seconds stretched by.   

With every fiber of his being, Spock wanted to. But the pain of failure, of this vision being insubstantial, would be too much to bear.   

And yet – And yet - he had seen wonders in his years of life. It would be a miracle to beat them all, but if anyone could defy death...   

Kirk was watching him, silent but breathing hard, looking at him as if he could read every thought passing through his mind. He said, intensely, quietly, “Spock. Please.”  

Spock felt a treacherous spark of hope light in his chest. He rose, took a hesitant step forward, then another. Within arm's length. He raised his hand, the trembling of which he could not hope to prevent, and reached for the missing part of his soul.   

Kirk closed his eyes. Spock’s fingers hesitated, millimeters away from that beloved face. As he moved to close that final distance, he felt – something.  A feeling as familiar as breathing, but long, long gone. A warmth, a fire, an electricity, that belonged to only one mind, one soul.   

He said, a barely whispered croak of disbelief, “Jim?”   

 

*  

Vulcan, 2267  

For the first few moments, there was nothing. Then, gently:  

Jim?  

Spock?  

Yes  

I can hear you. In my mind.   

That is usual in a meld. There is no cause for alarm.   

Alongside the thought but indivisible from it, like a shadow, or a frame, or a heartbeat, came the feeling. Spock was – slightly anxious. Concerned about his reaction to this intimate mental sharing.  

I’m not alarmed, Spock. This is – this is amazing. I've never felt anything like it.   

He wondered if the emotional sharing went two ways. If Spock could sense his absolute sincerity, his genuine excitement at this new field of discovery for a psy-null human. The answer came almost immediately.  

That is – gratifying. The feeling behind the thought was grateful. And relieved. And a little amused. It has been my experience that humans are generally suspicious of Vulcan mental techniques. There was something a little darker behind that thought. A sadness, a sense of isolation, that Kirk immediately disliked.  

Well they don’t know what they’re missing, this is extraordinary.

The longer the meld went on, the more he seemed able to sense. Not just Spock’s thoughts, and the feeling behind them, but a dim sense of Spock himself. Discipline, and warmth, and logic, and passion, and intelligence, and wit, and – it was intoxicating. He tried to reach further for that elusive self, then stopped himself.  

Is this okay? I’m not – doing anything wrong here, am I?  

Spock’s thought came back, affectionate and amused. If you were, I would most assuredly be able to stop you.   

Oh yeah, good point. You’ve done this before.   

I have.   

And there was a flash of something behind that thought. So brief that Jim wasn’t sure if he was interpreting it correctly, but it seemed like Spock had briefly compared all the previous melds he had undertaken and found them – less appealing than this one. 

The thought was encouraging.  

Okay, Spock, show me something. If someone was trying to get information out of my mind, and I wanted to hide it, or stop them, how would I do that? 

He felt, with some amusement, Spock’s mind switch over from friend to teacher immediately. It would depend on what technique was being utilised. As you are psy-null, any defence would be less effective than the same technique utilised by a telepath, however, I believe the following, as a basic shielding technique would still be useful.

Slowly, carefully, like an adult teaching a child, he outlined the basic steps, and Jim followed along as best he could. After some time, he had actually managed to shield a single thought entirely from Spock’s gentle interrogation, and was feeling pretty proud of himself.  

That was good, right?   

You are a most able student.   

This is an exercise for little kids, isn’t it?  

Yes.   

He sighed mentally. Well, it’s always good to learn new things.   

Indeed.   

Let’s try something else.   

Jim, are you certain you wish to continue? It would be entirely usual to grow fatigued, as you are unused to the meld.   

No, I’m good. He clamped down on the sudden sense of loss that Spock’s offer to end the meld had invoked.  

Well then, what would you like to try?  

You hide a thought from me, and I’ll try and get it.   

Jim, your enthusiasm is laudable, but you will not succeed.   

You know, that wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.  

I do not doubt it.   

Then, let’s go, Mister Certainty.   

What thought shall I shield from you ? He was, very definitely, being patiently humoured.  

Jim thought for a second, then: I know. It’s my birthday in a few weeks. McCoy said you’d sounded him out on potential presents.   

Without even a thought, there was very definitely a mild irritation from Spock’s side of the meld.  

I know, right? If it’s medically-related you couldn’t pry the information out of him with a crowbar. But if it’s not, he’s the worst gossip on the ship. So, you think about what you’ve decided to get me, and I will try and find out.   

Very well. I have shielded the thought in question.   

Right. Okay. Here I go.   

As Jim’s mind became absorbed in prying the edges of his own for birthday-related information, Spock was forced to admit to himself that he was finding this entire experience far more pleasing than he had allowed himself to hope. Far from his concerns around Jim feeling mentally invaded, or hostile, his Captain seemed to be regarding the whole experience as another frontier to explore, and approaching it with the same curious, open minded enthusiasm as he did exploration aboard the Enterprise

He felt, with mild amusement, that Jim had identified the particular shield behind which the knowledge of his present lay, and was currently seeing if he could demolish it with sheer force of will. Concerned that he might tire, Spock was about to suggest they desist, when suddenly his Captain changed his approach. The shift in tactics was so unexpected, it took a moment for Spock to realise that Kirk had stopped trying to break down his mental shield behind which the thought lay.  

Images, thoughts, impressions - all of Jim - random, disconnected, memories - began to flicker at increasing speed around the edge of his conscious mind. They began with Spock's most prominent mental image - Jim on the bridge, his Captain, but became quickly more personal - a chess game, a talk about David, listening to music, discussing Earth's literature - with surprise bordering on disbelief, Spock realised that instead of approaching the thought directly, through Spock's shield, Jim was looking through the unshielded portion of his mind - and why would he shield events that Jim had shared from Jim himself? - and following the trail of Spock's thoughts- the memories Spock himself had used when deciding what Jim would appreciate as a gift.  

In other circumstances, he would admire the ingenuity of the tactic, but all his thought was momentarily occupied with the idea that Jim should not be able to do this. Not with his psy rating. Not with this level of ease. It was as if his mind was already familiar with the paths through which it trod. The images of Jim were becoming more personal, as his Captain moved quickly past the surface of their relationship, to its emotional heart. The memories slowed, as Jim himself reacted to their emotional impact, and became distracted from his search. Spock moved quickly to end their mental connection without making the break too abrupt, but he was too slow to stop the last memory: himself - being held by Jim after their confrontation on the evening the Enterprise had left Talos IV. He felt again the grief, the deep guilt, at his destruction of this most precious relationship, and his intense relief, his profound gratitude at even the possibility of Jim's forgiveness, and the guilt that lingered even now.   

He felt Jim's own emotions rising at the reminder, and braced for anger, betrayal, but there was none, instead he heard Jim's mental voice, gentle and certain. Let it go, Spock. You're forgiven. Months ago. I owe you my life, my ship, a dozen times over.   

Behind the thoughts lay Jim's desire to be believed, to communicate Spock's importance to him, and he felt, for the first time since that long-ago meld with his mother, affection for himself in the mind of another. But where the quality of that affection had been encompassing, embracing all of him without any differentiation or quarter, this was different. Jim's affection for him - and that word seemed inadequate to cover the multiple emotions that were tangled within it - was almost laser focussed in its intensity, touching every positive quality Jim perceived in him, and magnifying it, taking those things that Spock himself saw as weaknesses, faults, and finding the good in them, seeing every disparate aspect of Spock's nature, and binding them together in a whole that was infinitely greater than the sum of its parts. Spock felt as if he could see the tendrils of Jim's affection, reaching into his very soul.  It was overwhelming: wonderful, impossible, and deeply unsettling.  

Jim, we must end the meld.    

 Oh. Okay. Is this enough, will you know it's me now, if we meld again?  

With a high degree of certainty.  

One hundred percent certain?

He was not fast enough to cover his doubt. 

What?

It would be theoretically possible, as has been done before, to replicate your mind at a surface level, in a way that I might be convinced by a low-level meld such as this.   

How do we get to one hundred percent certainty?    

I would need to – deepen the meld. Go beyond surface thoughts and impressions.   

Is that – would that be okay? Can you do that?  

Yes, but Jim, you are not trained in such things. You might share more than you would intend.   

Given what would be at stake if I were replaced, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.   

Spock hesitated. They should stop. This has already gone on much longer than he had intended.  

Very well. I will be brief.   

He lowered his shields and reached further into Jim’s mind. Beyond the conscious thoughts, beyond the surface feelings, was the core of his friend, his Captain: radiant and passionate, curious and loving, and uniquely, wonderfully, Jim. A glimpse was enough. This could not, could never, be replicated. He slowly, carefully, began to withdraw, and to end the meld.  

As he did so, a part of Jim’s mind seemed to reach for him, to prevent his leaving. He stopped in confusion. This was Jim's mind, but not of Jim’s conscious volition. This was – something else. Hesitantly, he reached back for it. He felt again, briefly, that overwhelming affection, and then – the tendrils of affection he had sensed before flared into solid, golden life as if a touch paper had been lit, too fast for him to prevent, and streamed into his mind like wildfires of molten warmth, and love, and devotion, and faith. 

He broke the meld in shock.  

When he opened his eyes, Jim was blinking at him in mild consternation. “Wow, Spock, a little warning next time? I was enjoying that.” His face split into a grin. “I was close, wasn’t I?” 

Spock stared at him. “I’m - I’m sorry, Captain?” 

“The present. I nearly got it, didn’t I?” 

“I - I – yes, you did.” 

“Ha! Knew it. Will not succeed, my eye.” On Spock’s expression, his smile faltered, and his face grew concerned. “Spock, you okay? Did I – do something wrong? Was that – too much? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have insisted. I know this is such a personal thing, I -” 

He looked so genuinely worried that Spock interrupted quickly, “No, Jim, it is I that should apologise. I allowed the experience to go on far longer than I should have done with a mind inexperienced in the meld.” 

Kirk waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Like I said, I enjoyed it. I’m a bit envious to be honest, I can’t imagine being able to do – that - with anyone. Amazing.” He smiled again, then looked at Spock in concern. “Spock, you look a bit pale. Are you sure you’re okay?” Without waiting for a response, he said, “Hold on. I’ll get you some water. Stay there.” 

As Kirk stood, and moved back into the cave, Spock raised his hand in front of his face. He felt like he should be able to see some evidence of that meld. Like a plasma burn, or a brand. But there was nothing. Only a slight trembling betrayed the depth of his disturbance. What had just happened? Jim was apparently unaffected. Why had the shock been his alone?  

He reviewed his physical responses. His pulse was elevated, and in defiance of the temperature that was beginning to fall around them, he felt suddenly almost – feverish. He closed his eyes, moved his attention inward, and took conscious control of his physical responses. His heartrate slowed, and he felt cooler. Whatever it was, had passed. Perhaps, when they returned to the Enterprise, he should consult Doctor McCoy. 

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Kirk dropped back into his place at his side. “Drink this.” he squinted at Spock in the fading light. “That’s a bit better. You were quite flushed there for a second.”  

“I am well, thank you, Jim.” He drank as instructed.  

Kirk leaned back against the rock, reassured. After a moment he said, absently, “I'm glad we did that. There’s something comforting about knowing, whatever happens, you’ll always recognise me.” A though occurred, and he added, “I bet it works two ways as well – if you were replaced, and we melded, d'you think I’d know?” 

Spock blinked. “I am unsure. Did you feel as if the meld revealed enough unique properties of my mind to identify me beyond doubt in the future?” 

Kirk smiled at him with open affection. “Spock, I’d know you anywhere, I’m sure of it. A year from now, a decade from now, hell, a century from now.”  

Rateg City, Romulus, 2371  

Kirk's eyes flew open. Spock had a less than a second to take in their flare of hope; their fierce, aching love.

"Sp-"

And then he was gone. 

Spock stood frozen in the chill silence of his room. Somewhere in his throat, a howl of despair threatened to slip its bonds. He drew one breath. Then another. A bitter, vicious anger began to rise. This was enough. He had indulged his mind’s wanderings for too long. Well, no more. There would be no more dreams. No more hallucinations. James Kirk would no longer be a feature of his mental landscape. Jim would be, as he should have been many years before, finally, truly dead. 

And soon, Spock would join him. 

Perhaps then, perhaps only then, would he know peace.    

 

*  

Notes:

If you haven’t seen it, someone has set the lovely Madeline Miller quote that opens this chapter to K/S gifs, and it is a thing of absolute beauty:
https://ophelia-j.tumblr.com/post/189155495792/pywren-madeline-miller-the-song-of

For those of you concerned about Old Spock, I’ve almost sure this is as bad as it gets for him. Almost. Someone asked in the comments if he would be going through with his dying scheme, and the current direction of travel is no. There was a draft plan of this fic where Kirk and Spock were only united in death as their younger selves (a la Titanic) but I’m almost sure that my muse has decided not to go that way (*eyes muse nervously*). Mainly because neither of us likes Kirk dying in Generations without seeing Spock again, at a time when Spock is canonically alive. That’s just...wrong. As someone else wisely said in the comments: he couldn’t just be happy, you bastards?!

Up next: Let’s be honest, if I foreshadowed any less subtly in this chapter, I’d just be stood next to you shouting "Pon farr!”

Chapter 11: Blood Fever

Summary:

I feel like the title gives it away, but for the sake of form:

Scenes set before, during, and after Amok Time.

This is Amok Time - Part One, I guess, because the full chapter ran to nearly 20k words and that seemed a bit much for one chapter? And that was me keeping the muse on a short leash! Seriously, this episode!!

Um. I am bad at the rating system on AO3 because I am the British cliché of sexual repression and therefore almost anything is Explicit to me. And I am BAD at writing anything even remotely sex-related. But this being Amok Time, my muse felt like I should make the effort, so there is a scene in this chapter that's a little bit not Gen, and I don't want to corrupt young, impressionable minds, so I went with T. Let me know if I did wrong either way.

**Edit: Missing scene is back in! My bad, sorry!**

Right. Deep breath. Here we go.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Main lab, USS Enterprise, eight days after shore leave, ship’s time 18.30  

Spock raised his hand, and stared at in it in consternation. The trembling came again. He lowered it, glancing quickly around the lab. The only other occupant of this section, Lieutenant Carla Raines, was occupied with her own work, and not looking in his direction.  

He looked down at his hands. This was not the first time they had trembled this week. It was, however, the first time he had been unable to stop it. He breathed slowly, relaxing his muscles, and bringing his physical responses under conscious control. After a moment, he raised his hand from where it was braced against the lab's main work station. For a moment, he felt a stab of relief as it remained still. Then the trembling began again, worse than before.  

He quickly lowered his hand back to the cool surface. He had been debating whether to consult Doctor McCoy all week. It was beginning to look as if his premise that this was a temporary aberration he would be able to control himself had been based upon false assumptions.  

A quiet voice near him, said, “Sir?” 

Spock's heart leapt, and he turned quickly. Behind him, T'Pring regarded him with cool distain. He started, and blinked in shock. The dark hair, Vulcan ears, and severe expression resolved themselves into the dark hair, very human ears, and concerned expression of Carla Raines. How had he not heard her approach?

He said, harsher than he had intended, “What, Lieutenant?” 

She blinked, and swallowed. “Sir, I was just - wondering if you needed any assistance?”  

“With what?” 

She gestured to the sensitive instruments in front of him. “I noticed you’d been – erm, taking a bit more time than you usually would, to –“ she broke off, uncomfortably. 

He bit down on a caustic dismissal, forced himself to consider her observation coolly. She was, after all, correct.  

He said carefully, “Are you aware of the methodology and parameters of this experiment?” 

She nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

“Then, perhaps, you would be so kind as to continue it for me?” 

“I’d be happy to, sir. I’ll send the results to your terminal when I’m done.” 

He took a steadying breath. “Thank you. Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

She smiled at him. “It's no problem at all, sir. If there’s anything else I can do, just let me know.”  

She was really quite lovely. How had he not noticed before? He felt a sudden, unexpected desire to raise his hand and touch her cheek. He squashed the impulse in alarm, and rose.
 
“That will be all, Lieutenant, thank you.” She nodded, and took his place at the station.  



As the lab doors closed behind her superior officer, Carla Raines glanced after him with a small sigh. For moment there, it had almost felt like – but that was foolishness. A product of her over-worked and under-romanced brain. Not that she was looking for romance. She had a career to build, and papers to publish, but still, if Commander Spock ever showed any interest, she might make an exception. He had far and away the best mind she’d ever worked with, and all that intelligence and quiet strength wrapped up in that reserved, Vulcan exterior, was quite the irresistible combination. She imagined there would be a great deal going on beneath that unruffled surface, if only anyone was allowed to see it. 

She smiled at her own fancies in amusement, as she continued his work. It would never happen. Still, a girl could dream.  



Outside sickbay, Spock hesitated. He did not wish to trigger more interest in his unique physiology than Doctor McCoy had yet shown, but – he required assistance, and the Doctor had been quite clear that any aberrations from the norm, any at all, should be reported to him. But –  

The doors to sickbay opened, and Chapel exited, walking quickly, and had barrelled straight into him before he had a chance to move. He caught her before she lost her balance, and she gripped his arms in turn, as she gasped, “Oh, Mister Spock, I’m sorry, I was rushing to meet -”   

Through her touch, he felt unshielded embarrassment, then affection, attraction – he thrust her away from him, and released her abruptly. She had stopped speaking and was looking at him with concern. “Mister Spock – are you quite alright?” 

He said roughly, “Excuse me, Nurse. I must speak to Doctor McCoy.” He walked past her into sickbay. 



Chapel walked slowly away from sickbay. She’d almost been tempted to stay, and find out what was going on with their first officer, but she was already late to meet Nyota. As the turbolift doors swished shut, she hoped that whatever was wrong with him wasn’t serious, and reassured herself that if she was needed, McCoy would call her. And that, whatever was wrong, Leonard McCoy would find a way to deal with it. He really was an excellent physician. Feeling better, she stepped out of the lift, and headed to the rec room. As she arrived, the thought suddenly occurred that Spock was Vulcan. And once, many years ago, she had taught herself to make a Vulcan dish. Had been complimented on it, as it happened. She smiled to herself. Well, if Spock continued to be under the weather, then maybe a small reminder of home would help.  

From across the room, Nyota hailed her, “Chris!” 

She waved, and went to join her friend.  



McCoy stared disapprovingly at the readouts before him. “Well, you’re right. Your temperature’s up. That trembling is adrenaline, which your body seems to be producing unnecessarily. Not in huge amounts, mind you, but enough to keep you on edge. Has this ever happened before?” 

Spock was sitting, stiff and unmoving, on the edge of the biobed, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the entire galaxy right now. He said icily, “It has not.” 

“Huh. Okay. I’ll need to run some more tests tomorrow morning, so come back before your shift. In the meantime, I’m not signing you off duty, since you’d probably just work in your quarters anyway, but take it easy, alright? Just your assigned shifts, no overtime, no landing parties, and I want you back here after every shift so we can keep a track of those adrenaline levels.” 

There was no response. He said, “Spock, okay?” 

“Yes, Doctor.” Without any further interaction, he slid from the biobed, and walked out of sickbay. 

McCoy watched him go with a frown, then turned, went back into his office, sat down, pulled up Spock’s medical records, and began to read.  



Ship’s time 20.10 

Spock sat at the desk in his quarters. His attempt to meditate had not proved fruitful. Now his concentration was not proving up to task of simply reading reports from the heads of the Enterprise’s various departments. He flicked through them impatiently. They were not up to standard. He had been far too patient with his human colleague’s tendencies to stray from the subjects requested.  

He was too hot. “Computer, reduce temperature in here, three degrees.” There was a chime of acknowledgement.
 
He turned back to his reports. He hadn’t managed one paragraph before his door chime sounded. He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. Was there no peace to be found on this ship? He ignored it.  

Without invitation, the door opened anyway, and he looked up in disbelief.  

His Captain was hovering in the doorway. As the door opened, he stepped inside and caught Spock’s eye with an enquiring smile. “No chess tonight?” 

Spock’s eyes flew to the chronometer. He had lost track of time. He stammered, “My apologies, Captain, I was preoccupied with – I am somewhat behind -” 

Kirk waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re busy, we can play any time.” He came over to the desk. “What’s keeping you away from trying to make up for the frankly embarrassing trouncing you suffered last time?” He caught his first officer’s eye with a grin, then rounded the desk to read over Spock’s shoulder.  

Spock took a breath to reply as his Captain leaned forward to read, then Kirk’s hand landed on his shoulder. The effect was immediate, and shocking. The heat that had been shimmering through his system ignited like wildfire, and he barely contained a gasp. The heat seemed to solidify, and strengthen, until it was no longer simply warmth, but - desire. Powerful, focused, and frightening in its intensity.

Two opposing impulses fought for control. One, to push his Captain away from him, as hard and as far as he could. The other: to rise, to pull Jim closer, to – he cut off that train of thought with effort. 

Kirk was saying with amusement, “I do understand Scotty’s annoyance with the engineers who did the last nacelle refit, but at some point, he’s just going to have to let it go.” 

Spock said, in as normal a tone as he could manage, without looking around. “Captain, if you do not mind, I should like to work undisturbed.” He was painfully aware of the strain in his voice.  

Kirk glanced at him in surprise, then straightened. “Oh. Right. Yes, of course.” He removed his hand. Spock clamped down on the desperate noise that threatened to escape. Kirk rounded the desk again, looking back at his first officer with concern. “Spock, are you okay? You look a bit flushed and you feel – “ he hesitated then looked at his hand in confusion before looking back to Spock in concern “- warm.”  

“I am well, Captain.” His voice was closer to normal. That was better. Kirk, however, looked unconvinced. Inspiration struck, and he added, “I have been undertaking a complex meditative practice around the regulation of my physiological responses.” Beneath the desk, he clenched and unclenched his fist convulsively.  

Kirk’s face cleared slightly. “Ah, right. Well in that case, I’ll leave you to it.” He looked at Spock’s desk. “Send anything on to me that you need to. Don’t work too hard.” 

“I will not.” Please leave. “I may be - less available than usual for activities outside of my duties.” 

There was a brief flash of disappointment across Kirk’s face, but he caught himself and nodded. “Take all the time you need. Next time you fancy chess, just say the word.” 

“I shall.” 

“Right. I’ll, er, I’ll see you on the bridge tomorrow then.” 

“Goodnight, Captain.” 

“G’night, Spock.” After another curious glance back, Kirk turned, and left. As the doors closed behind him, Spock released the gasp he had been holding, and gripped the edge of his desk in rising panic. That had been – that had been – he had wanted to – had needed to - 

He had been attracted to people before. Not, it seemed with the frequency of his human colleagues, but it had happened. But those stirrings of attraction, of desire, had been as nothing next to the fire that had threatened to engulf him at the mere touch of Jim’s hand.  

It had been all consuming. Possessive. Terrifying

He stood, and moved to the bed, sinking on to it unsteadily. What is wrong with me? McCoy had missed something, that much was clear. He must attempt his own diagnosis. He lay back, breathed steadily, and tried to clear his mind. Elevated hormone levels. Adrenaline production increased. A temperature high enough to be a fever – a fever.

Slow, horrible realisation dawned, and with it, a stultifying, creeping dread. This was – his time. This was - pon farr. It had finally happened. At the worst possible time. He would lose control, he would be a danger to his friends, and without the completion of a bond, without the release of the physical drives – he would die.  

He would have to return to Vulcan. He would have to – he would need to – consummate his marriage to T’Pring. Their bond would be deepened to the connection of true mates. It should have been a relief. He would finally be, in the eyes of his wife, a true Vulcan. And yet – he did not feel relieved. He felt – trapped. Alone. And afraid.  



His bridge shift the next day was nothing short of a living hell. He had not slept, and he had never before realized how consistently noisy humans were. Uhura seemed to speak almost constantly: to her team, to address the ship, to other ships, to the Captain. Sulu and the new navigator, whose name he had already forgotten, were engaged in almost permanent quiet conversation as Sulu talked him through the vagaries of the helm and navigation console.  

The bridge was too hot. He had always thought of it as cold in the past, but now even the instruments beneath his trembling fingers seemed warm.  

And Jim.  

Jim, who knew nothing of the desires coursing through him, continued to be – friendly, continued to stand too close, continued to touch him. After two hours, he could stand it no longer. He waited for Jim to be deep in conversation with Scotty, then left the bridge, without dismissal.  

He returned to his quarters. He would work from here. He could no longer be around his crewmates. And he could not be anywhere near Jim. The impulse to touch, to hold, to possess, was growing stronger with every hour that passed, and exposure to Jim’s presence only made it worse.  

This was – wrong. Surely his thoughts, his desire, should all be directed towards T’Pring?  

T’Pring. He should – contact her. Inform her of the situation. Perhaps she would already know. Perhaps - she would be pleased.  

Somehow, he did not think so.  



McCoy frowned at the chrono. He was quite sure he remembered telling Spock to come to sickbay before his shift. But alpha shift had started two hours ago, and still no Spock. 
He thumbed the computer link on his desk. “Computer, locate Commander Spock.” 

The pleasant female voice informed him neutrally that Commander Spock was in his quarters. He reached for the comm switch, then changed his mind. He grabbed a tricorder, and headed for the door.  

He was on the bridge. The lighting was adjusted to ship’s night, so this was - gamma shift. Or delta. The temperature was blessedly cool, and the bridge was – miraculously – quiet. He looked around, and the reason for the silence became clear. The bridge was deserted. Except for - 

“Spock.”

He turned. Jim was leaning against the console beside the science station, smiling at him. He was out of uniform, and seemed more relaxed than Spock had ever seen him on the bridge. He was in a form fitting non-regulation shirt, and trousers that skimmed lightly over the physique beneath. He was barefoot.  

His smile was close to the one he used when he had just made a particularly frustrating move in one of their chess games – challenging, confident, daring Spock to do his worst in reply.  

He said, hesitantly, “Captain?” 

Jim drew slowly closer, stopping within mere inches of Spock’s position at the science station.
“Mister Spock.” The smile widened. His gaze roamed freely across his science officer's slim form. Spock could feel the warmth of that stare on his skin. He had never been so acutely aware of being observed. “I don’t think that you’ve been completely honest with me.” 

Spock could feel the heat of his body across the narrow strip of air that separated them. When he breathed to speak, the air was scented with Jim. He could feel the fever increasing, trying to strip his control, trying to force a response.  

He said, his voice uneven, “In what way do you believe I have been – dishonest?” He held the console in front of him to circumvent the desire to touch.  

“I think,” Jim's roving gaze finally reached his face, “that you’d like to take liberties, Mister Spock.” He voice had dropped to a lower timbre than he usually used, and the sound made Spock grip the console so hard that it began to strain beneath his fingers.
Jim’s hand reached down to where Spock’s was braced against the console, and he slid his first two fingers over Spock’s, entwining them together. Spock drew in his breath on a hiss. “I think you’d like to forget I’m your Captain – that you’d like to forget rank entirely.

“I think,” he drew nearer still, closing the gap between them, and whispered, breath hot on Spock’s ear, “you’d like to have me.”  

Spock was reaching for him before his conscious mind could intervene, but Jim was already moving, and he was fast. He stepped back, clear out of reach, still smiling, although there was something reckless in it now. It was the smile of a man happy to tease the tiger, and unafraid of the response.

Spock tracked his every move, watching as he stepped lightly from the outer level of the bridge, to the command chair. But he didn’t sit, merely leaned against it. The thin material of his shirt was doing absolutely nothing to conceal the outline of muscle beneath. 

He continued, “But I’m not that easy to have.” He was running his hand over the arm of the chair, back and forth, a light, telling rhythm, but his eyes never left his first officer. “If you want me, you’ll just have to - take me.” 

He met Spock’s heated gaze, his face a challenge, and an invitation. Spock felt the ungovernable desire of the fever stripping his control, burning his blood and forcing all thoughts of rank, of propriety, from his mind. There was only need: a wild, fierce desire, with one all consuming focus.

In one quick movement, he vaulted the low barrier that separated the science station from the lower bridge, and slammed his captain back against the command chair. He pressed them flush together, getting every inch of contact he could. Jim let out a rush of air that quickly became a fevered sigh as Spock moved against him, and lowered his face to Jim’s throat, scenting and tasting what he had long desired to touch.  

Jim was not slow to respond. He wound his arms around Spock in turn, running them down his back to grip and pull them together - so close that Spock could feel an answering hardness against his own.

The physical sensation – Jim’s heat, Jim’s skin, Jim’s desire - was beyond bliss, but he needed – he gasped out, “I must – Jim, I must have your mind.”  

In reply, there was a low, breathy rumble that could almost have been a laugh. “I was hoping you’d say that.” 

He drew back the merest fraction, just enough to move a hand towards Jim’s face. In his turn, Jim slipped a hand between them and began to strip away the rapidly dampening fabric.

There was a chime from the door.

As Jim’s searching hand finally slipped inside his briefs and made contact with his hardening, heated skin, Spock could not contain the gasping moan that escaped him, or the reflexive movement of his hips against that exploring touch. Jim murmured, low and heated, “That’s it, love, let go for me.”

As Jim’s hand closed more firmly around his length and began to move, his hands, which had found their position, almost slipped from the meld points as he gasped brokenly, “Ah - Jim -” 

The chime came again. It was followed by McCoy’s voice.  

“Spock!” 

He awoke with a start. And stared around him in confusion. He was in his quarters. He had – lain down, to try and meditate. And he his body had taken the opportunity to catch up on the sleep it hadn’t had the night before, whilst his mind had taken the opportunity to -  

Spock, goddammit -” 

He was drenched in sweat, and tangled in his sheet. He threw it aside and moved quickly to the quarter’s small fresher, as McCoy’s voice said, “Computer, door lock override, authorization, McCoy, Leonard H., Chief Medical Officer."



The door to Spock’s quarters opened obediently as the override activated, and McCoy stepped inside, tricorder at the ready. He’d never actually been in Spock’s quarters before, and it felt like a liberty, but then Spock had never missed a scheduled medical appointment either, so that felt like more than sufficient cause. He stared around him in dismay. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this level of – disarray – hadn't been it.  

He said, again, in concern, “Spock? It’s McCoy. You missed your -” 

The door to the small bathroom opened, and McCoy turned in relief, “There you are, I brought - “ 

Then he saw Spock’s face. And the words died. The Vulcan was – furious. Something in McCoy’s hindbrain told him that he’d just wandered into the lion’s den, and now would be a good time to leave again. But Spock was his patient, and - 

Am I entitled to no privacy on this ship?” He had never, in all their acquaintance, heard that tone in Spock’s voice.

McCoy swallowed. “Of course, you -” It was as far as he got.  

And damn, but Spock was fast. Before McCoy could even flinch, he had crossed the room, seized the Doctor by the throat, and slammed him back against the wall beside the door. “You will cease to pry into my personal matters, Doctor, or I shall certainly break your neck.” He tightened his grip, and the ease with which that threat could be carried out was apparent to them both.  

Leonard McCoy had been called many things in his time, but never coward. He met his friend’s fevered gaze calmly, and drawled slowly, “Well, you could, but I’d be no use to you then.”  

Spock’s grip broke so abruptly he almost fell in place. “Get out.” 

With what dignity he could muster, McCoy walked out, and went straight back to sickbay, pulling up the scan he’d managed to get before Spock threw him out. It wasn’t the detail he needed, but it was enough. He hit the comm switch on his desk.

“Computer, locate Captain Kirk.”  

USS Enterprise, next day

McCoy sounded the chime at Spock’s quarters and waited for the summons to enter. He walked in to find the Vulcan slumped at his desk. As McCoy entered, he sat up straight, and assumed a neutral expression, replacing the pained, anxious look that had been there moments before. It was the first time he’d visibly seen Spock adopting his veneer of Vulcan neutrality, and he felt a pang of sympathy for his friend.  

He forced a smile, and said aloud, “Hey Spock, quick house call, just need a few readings. I won’t keep you long.” 

Spock said quietly, “Please proceed, Doctor.” 

He began the scan, and frowned at his tricorder. “Spock, I still don’t like these adrenaline levels.” 

This was met with a dry, “Neither do I, Doctor.” 

He gave Spock a sympathetic grin, heartened by the attempt at humour. “Yeah, it’s probably worse where you’re sitting.” 

“Indeed.” This was said with some feeling.  

“Are you sleeping?” 

“No.” 

He sighed, said, “Spock, I could give you something. It won’t stop the buildup, but it’ll depress some of the associated symptoms. Let you sleep, at least.” 

Spock didn’t meet his concerned gaze, but he drew a sharp breath, and said, “That would be – thank you. Thank you, Doctor.” 

He felt the cool press of a hypo against his neck, and heard the quiet hiss as the compound entered his system. McCoy said, “You should feel a difference almost straight away. If you need another dose, let me know.” 

As the hypo left his neck, it was replaced with a slight pressure on his shoulder, as McCoy gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand and stepping away.  
“Anything else you need?” 

Spock thought, fatalistically, A cure for pon farr. Aloud he said, “No, thank you, Doctor.” 

McCoy sighed. “I wish there was more I could do. But getting information out of the VMI is like – well, blood from a stone would be easier.”
 
Spock glanced up at his friend. He looked – unhappy. He said quietly, “You are already doing more than I could have hoped. Your efforts, and your discretion, are very much appreciated.”
 
McCoy swallowed. “Hang in there, Spock.” He gave his friend a forced smile. “We’ll get you to Vulcan.”
 
Spock look away, said, hesitantly, “Doctor, I – I wished to apologize for -” 

McCoy cut him off. “Spock, as far as difficult patients go, you don’t even crack the top ten. Hell, the top fifty.” The Vulcan looked unconvinced, so he added, “And when I had a taste of the kind of stress your system is under right now, I managed to erase three hundred years of history, the entire ship, and traumatize Jim. I mean, next to me, you’re not even really trying here.” 

Spock blinked in confusion, and then, for a brief moment, McCoy thought he might see him smile. Then the moment was gone. He said gently, “Spock, you look exhausted. Try and sleep before that hypo wears off.” For a second, he thought Spock would fight the issue, but instead he simply rose as instructed and crossed to the bed, sitting on the end of it as if too tired to recall its function.  

The door chime sounded. Spock froze, then called, “Enter.” 

Both men looked across as the door opened to admit their Captain.  

He saw McCoy, and stopped, halfway into the room. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you need me to -?” He gestured back the way he’d come.  

McCoy said, before Spock could speak, “No, we’re done. Just reminding Spock here to take it easy between now and Vulcan. No work. At all.” He shot the Vulcan a severe look.  
Kirk crossed to them, standing next to McCoy, and nodded agreement. “Yes, absolutely, there’s nothing the senior staff and I can’t handle.” He was looking Spock over anxiously. Spock was looking at the floor. Kirk looked a hopeful question at McCoy, who shook his head.  

“Right, I’ve got other lucky patients to see, so I can’t let you monopolize my time all day.” McCoy crossed to the door. As he reached it, he looked back to Spock. “If you need anything at all, you know where I am.” He nodded to Kirk, added, “And don’t stay long, he needs to sleep.” Then left.  



Spock didn’t need to look up to know that Kirk hadn’t moved. His awareness of Jim’s physical presence was like an airbound sonar he couldn’t turn off.  

Kirk said, “How are you doing?” 

He steeled himself, and looked up. “I am – as well as can be expected.” 

“So - not good then.” 

“I believe I have – felt better.” 

Kirk gave him a fond smile. “Yeah, I believe you have too.” He nodded to the space on the bed next to Spock, “Do you mind if I - “ 

He had opened his mouth to reflexively refuse when he realized that he was not, for the first time in days, actively troubled by Jim’s presence. Whatever McCoy had given him appeared to be – at least temporarily - working. He said, honestly, “I do not.” 

Kirk looked pleased and Spock realized, with a pang of guilt, that he had been avoiding and openly rejecting Jim’s company for days, for the first time in their acquaintance. And that Jim had noticed.  

He crossed, and sat down, closer than Spock had intended, and his left arm rested lightly against Spock’s right. Spock braced for the flare of discomfort, the heat, the fever, that Jim’s proximity had been generating of late, but it did not come. In fact, the small area of contact between them seemed to act as a kind of lightning rod, drawing away some of the heat, and the worst excesses of the fever that had begun to torment his nights. Without any conscious intervention, he leaned closer to the source of that blessed relief. Jim glanced at him with that small, pleased smile, and intentionally shifted position slightly, so that some of his friend’s weight was resting against his side.  

It was taking every ounce of discipline Spock possessed to stop from lowering his head to Jim’s shoulder, but he had no idea how long this respite would last, or how long his friend’s forbearance would hold out with this unsought contact, and had no wish to ruin it.  

Kirk said quietly, “Spock, you’ve been – incredibly open with me, and I appreciate that. I really do. And there’s no reason at all for you to tell me anything else, so if you want to tell me to mind my own business at this point, I won’t take that askance."  

Spock made an odd noise, somewhere between a sigh and a huff of laughter, and the sound made Jim smile again, as Spock said, “Truly, there is very little else to tell.” 

“Fair enough.” Kirk caught his eye, and smiled, then looked away before adding, “I just, er, I was wondering - I take it there’s - someone waiting for you?” He was taking an interest in a Vulcan statue on a nearby shelf. 

Spock said, somewhat confused, “I am off duty, by Doctor’s orders.” 

“Oh. No, I meant – on Vulcan. For the – ceremony. You talked about a wife, a partner, someone like that?” 

There was a long silence. Then, “Yes.” 

“Okay. Well, that’s great. I bet they must be – really something.” 

Spock could not force himself to speak. Nothing would pass the sudden, severe constriction in his throat. T’Pring was, indeed, something. She was well respected, highly intelligent, extremely competent, from one of Vulcan’s oldest families, and almost unbelievably beautiful. His parents had chosen well. He was very lucky. As they sat there, Jim a blessed weight at his side, he realized, decades too late, that he would trade ten T’Prings, all the ancient ritual of Vulcan, and years of his life, for one, warm, golden, illogical, audacious, brilliant, foolhardy, unpredictable, astonishing human.  

Then it occurred to him, for the first time, that he did not know how long this would last. How long he would need to stay on Vulcan to be assured of survival. The Enterprise would need to leave immediately for Altair. He had not truly faced the possibility that he would not be aboard her when she did so. But the likelihood was – that he would not. And he had no idea when he would return. Or if he would return. Or even, how long he had before the Doctor’s hypospray wore off, and he was once again a danger to his friend.  

He said quietly, “Jim, would you like to play chess?” 

*

Place of Koon-ut-kal-if-fee, Vulcan, Stardate: 5025.93 (Terran Calendar: 22nd March 2267)

The place of challenge was far warmer than she had expected. Intellectually, T’sha’al was aware that the temple of Mount Seleya existed in its own microclimate, habitually a few degrees cooler than almost anywhere else on Vulcan, but actually feeling the effect of being away from it was something else. She felt sweat begin to form beneath the heavy ornamental necklace at her throat. Beside her, T’Rena shifted uncomfortably and she knew her sister was feeling the same thing.  

Still, they would not be outside for long. This was to be a brief, traditional ceremony. The betrothed couple would arrive, exchange vows and the ritual words, then, as the highest-ranking healer present in the absence of T’Lar, T’sha’al would ensure the longevity of their marriage by joining their minds in a more permanent and strengthened bond than the one they currently possessed, before they retired to a private place to consummate their union.  

Insofar as T’sha’al felt strongly about any aspect of her service at the temple, this was a role she allowed herself to contemplate with some anticipation. She would never marry, never know the closeness of a marital bond, so to join two compatible, willing, and joyful minds in an almost unbreakable bond of love was a personal satisfaction she allowed herself to relish.  

As they waited, she turned her mind towards the upright young woman at the edge of their group, currently talking in low tones to the man next to her. She had been introduced to T’sha’al as T’Pring, the future wife of S’chn T’gai Spock, and the young woman had looked her over disinterestedly before walking away to speak to the man currently beside her, to whom T’sha’al had been introduced almost as an afterthought. T’sha’al had lived at the temple since her extraordinary mental abilities had become apparent as a child, and she rarely ventured outside it. But when she did, as a senior healer of the temple, the reaction of others was almost always the same: curiosity, respect, and often a kind of awed regard bordering on reverence. It was not something she sought, nor expected: it was simply what was.  

T’Pring had evinced none of these reactions. Had, in fact, seemed almost hostile to T’sha’al’s presence. T’Rena, at her side, had stiffened in indignation at the slight. T’sha’al had touched her hand in placatory sympathy. It does not matter. T’Rena had satisfied herself with shooting the oblivious T’Pring an icy look as they waited.  

The longer she spent in T’Pring’s company, even with the distraction of the other minds around her, the more something began to niggle at T’sha’al’s consciousness. Her ability to read people without a physical touch was uniquely strong amongst her people, and the reason her mental training had started so young. With a touch, she was able to read in far greater depth – she would never dream of attempting a healing without one – but something about T’Pring’s mental presence was calling itself to her attention even without physical contact. Normally, this was something she would ignore to avoid an invasion of privacy, but as the ceremony would naturally involve her touching T’Pring’s mind, she reached for the source of her mental discomfort. Sometimes an image allowed for improved focus. She touched her sister’s hand, began, T’Rena, show me – then stopped.  

She felt the sudden arrival into their small group of a strong, rigidly disciplined female mind. T’Pau. The most senior member of Vulcan’s ruling High Council approached, and T’sha’al bowed her head in acknowledgement. The older woman’s severe tones said, ‘Healer T’sha’al. You honour us with your presence.’ 

"It is my will to serve, Honoured Council Member T’Pau." Next to her, she felt T’Rena almost holding her breath in anxiety lest she be addressed.

From the place of challenge, the ceremonial gong sounded.  T’Pau called out to the bearers, the bells rang, and their procession began. T’sha’al walked forward carefully, grateful for her sister’s guiding hand. They walked behind the ceremonial guards, who were in turn behind T’Pau on her litter. She knew immediately when they entered the open space. The air changed, became even hotter, and the presence of three other minds called themselves to her attention. As they drew to a halt at the edge of the space, unobtrusively to one side, she focussed with professional interest on the strongest and most disrupted mental presence, undoubtedly the mind of S’chn T’gai Spock.  

Healer T’Lar had wondered if his human heritage would mean the fever of the plak tow would not seize him so strongly. Even from this remove, T’sha’al could tell that such was not the case. His mind burned as fiercely as any she had ever felt, and she mentally nodded to herself. T’Lar would be satisfied.   

Curiously, she turned to the other two minds present, and almost recoiled in surprise. There was no Vulcan discipline present, and very little in the way of psychic ability. Spock’s companions were – human. T’sha’al was familiar with humans - at the temple they often received applications from human scholars to study texts from their renowned library - but even so, she had only rarely met one. She touched T’Rena’s hand. Sister, show me the companions of S’chn T’gai Spock.  

She felt T’Rena turn obediently at her side, and then an image filled her mind. The place of challenge, sand and rocks, the ceremonial gong in the centre, and across from their small group, three men in uniforms she did not recognise.  

There are two humans with him, T’Rena’s mind supplied in surprise. Members of their Starfleet.  

Both were indisputably human. One was wearing the same blue coloured uniform as Spock, the other in gold. She had just turned her attention to the figure in gold when T’Rena’s surprise rippled through her mind like lightning.  

Sister? 

T’sha’al - that is Leonard McCoy. Her sister’s mental voice was impressed.  

She took a moment to recall. The human healer whose work you have studied.  

He is an eminent doctor of their Starfleet. I frequently cite his xenobiology work in my research. It is highly detailed and meticulously notated. He has a most - interesting mind.  
T’sha’al thought briefly that, for a renowned researcher like her sister, the human McCoy had just been paid the highest compliment she could bestow.  

In front of them, T’Pau had begun to address Spock’s party. T’Rena’s attention was now entirely absorbed by the human doctor, and she was listening intently to the conversation at the dais, lest he be given the opportunity to speak.  

Carefully, T’sha’al withdrew her awareness from her sister’s mind, and turned her attention back to the other in Spock’s party, calling up the brief mental image she had received of the gold human. Across the sands, a name came to her. Kirk. From Spock’s mind she easily supplied the rest: James T. Jim. My Captain. T’sha’al again felt a ripple of unease. Something was –  

‘Leonard McCoy, ma’am.’ T’sha’al’s train of thought was again derailed by her sister’s light touch to her hand and the accompanying surge of delight. His voice, T’sha’al.  

She made a mental note to speak to T'Rena regarding focus later, shielded her sister’s mind from hers, and turned her attention back to the human called Kirk. Even had the epithet Captain not been so strongly linked with him in Spock’s mind, his own natural authority would have informed her. He was chafing under the need to remain respectfully silent and uninvolved in their alien ceremony, and attempting to conceal, successfully to all but T’sha’al, an unusually high level of anxiety around his bestfriendfirstofficer- the ripple of unease came again. T’sha’al frowned to herself.  

As Spock pledged the behaviour of his friends, and the ceremony continued, T’sha’al turned her attention back to Spock. His mind was sinking fast into the blood fever, but she had felt many such minds in her time at the temple. The fires of plak tow held no fears for an adept of her abilities. Keeping herself away from Spock’s conscious awareness –her official role in the ceremony would not come until the end - she moved rapidly past the fire to the depths of Spock’s unconscious mind, seeking that part of his mind that reached always for another. Long familiarity with this work made her quick, and a sudden burst of anxiety – not mine. not his. who? - made her faster.  

The presence of the woman T’Pring appeared in his mind. Their childhood bond flickered dimly in her careful mental presence. She examined it, setting aside an illogical sense of frustration that without touching one or both of them she could not see it with the clarity she desired. It was neglected, that much was certain. She did not need to see into T’Pring’s mind to know that this was not a cherished bond from either side. That was – disappointing. Still, she had no doubt in her own ability to -  

She stopped. There was – something else here. Something more fundamental than the childhood bond. Something that the fires of plak tow had brought closer to the surface. Something that had weakened the already unsteady bond with T’Pring. Breathing through her own curiosity, she removed her attention entirely from the world around her and brought all of her considerable mental powers to bear. It was – she reached further in fascination. In all her years at the temple, she had -  

T’Rena seized her wrist, jolting her from Spock’s mind.  

Sister, what

She has challenged.
 

T’Rena gathered herself, breathing deeply to ground herself in her own body. In front of her, the human Kirk was speaking with T’Pau. She heard the voice of the human doctor again, and T’Rena’s hand tightened on her wrist.  

T’sha’al. T’Rena’s mental voice was concerned. What will happen? 

T’sha’al’s mental voice was firm. The fires of plak tow must be extinguished. One way or another. You know this, T’Rena. If there is to be no consummation, there will be violence. It is the only alternative.  

‘I make my choice.' T’Pring’s voice sounded clearly across the sands. ‘– this one.’ 

Even without the audible intake of breath from T’Rena, the stunned recoil through every mind in the space told T’sha’al that T’Pring had not chosen any of the Vulcans present.

It is one of the humans.  

She sent to T’Rena, Which of them? There was no reply. Sister, which?  

Not Doctor McCoy. The gold one. Spock called him Kirk.  

Around her, the conversation continued. T’Pau had, rightly, given the human the opportunity to refuse. 

Then, to her shock, she heard Spock’s voice. "T’Pau -"

"Thee speaks?"

She mentally echoed T’Pau’s surprise. This deep in the blood fever, he should not be able to – she reached for his mind. The fever burnt as strongly as before. He was overcoming it by sheer force of will, driven by desperate concern for the human Kirk. In all her years at the temple, healing minds consumed by the fever, she had rarely encountered such a thing. It was – extraordinary.  

T’Pau’s voice came again. "It is said thy Vulcan blood is thin. Are thee Vulcan, or are thee human?" 

T’sha’al felt a flare of defensiveness on Spock’s behalf. The question was unfair. His ability to speak was driven by his will, not his humanity. The fever in his blood was entirely Vulcan. But it was not her place to speak. In fact, with T’Pring’s rejection of their childhood bond, she no longer had a role in this ceremony at all.  

She heard Spock’s plea, T’Pau’s refusal. Heard the voice of the human Kirk again. As the weapons were retrieved, she felt T’Rena’s hand on her arm, felt herself moved further away from the arena of combat. She heard the voice of the human doctor again. 

"You can’t do it, Jim."
 
Their place of retreat for this private conversation had not accounted for the acuity of Vulcan hearing. Or the ability of T’Rena to position them in such a way that they could eavesdrop unobserved.  

Sister, they seek privacy. Move us away from – T'Rena was not listening. 

She sent more forcefully, T’Rena 

They don’t know. T’Rena’s mental voice was anxious. Her sister abhorred violence in all forms and the turn the ceremony had taken had unsettled her. T'sha'al, they don’t know.  
She sent, with steady affection, Calm yourself, pi’ko’kai. What do they not know? 

That one of them must die.  

She turned towards the sound of their voices. Kirk’s voice was steady, but as a human, his mind was even more open that those of the Vulcans around her. He was not afraid, as she might have expected. His entire concern was for S’chen T’gai Spock. How to keep Spock safe was the driving force behind every utterance he made to the doctor at his side. She realised, with sudden shock, that T'Rena was correct. He did not know that the challenge was to the death. And he was planning to accept.  

She hesitated. It was not her place to say anything. Only T’Pau could officiate. But it was possible that this knowledge would reverse the human’s decision. She took a breath to speak.  

At the dais, the bells stopped. T’Pau’s voice rang through the space. "Kirk? Decide."  

His reply was certain. "I accept."

Next to her, she felt T’Rena stiffen in distress. She took her sister’s hand in hers, projecting a calm acceptance that she did not feel. This was – wrong. She had never been present for a koon-ut-kal-I-fee but the examples she had studied were not encouraging. Men fighting each other to exhaustion, debilitating injury, death. It was the reason her work was so important.  

And that was the best outcome between two Vulcans. Kirk was human. He could not defeat a Vulcan under normal circumstances. With Spock in the grip of plak tow, what they were about to see was state sanctioned murder. As a healer, she could not -  

She felt the moment they realized like a physical blow. She expected protests, and the human doctor did not disappoint. "These men are friends. To force them to fight until one of them is killed -" At her side, she felt T’Rena’s approval of his intervention, but her attention was on the other, the golden captain. His reaction had been – strange. His initial protest had been an automatic response, but after T’Pau’s interjection, he made no further comment, merely stared across the sands to Spock.   

Object, she thought wildly. You are human, you cannot be held to our laws. Object and save yourself.  

But he did not. T’sha’al resisted the urge to reach for his thoughts. Spock and T’Pring had both given permission for a healer to examine their minds. He had not. His emotions, however, she could not avoid feeling. He thinks he will die, she realised suddenly. He thinks he will die, but accepts it. Why?  

As the fight commenced, her mind was whirling. Everyone knew that the challenge existed but in reality, it was hardly ever used. Why had T’Pring done this? Their bond was supposed to draw them together. But it had not. Why had it failed? She thought again of Spock’s mind. Of what she thought she had sensed. The deeper part of him that reached, not for T’Pring, but for –  

The doctor’s desperate shout interrupted her thoughts. T’Pau’s voice rang out across the space. "Kroykah!" Beside her, T’Rena’s attention flew to McCoy.  

She thought again of the human Kirk’s reaction to the knowledge that Spock would kill him. If he had objected, the Vulcan Stonn would have been T’Pring’s second choice, that was apparent. The obvious reason for his lack of objection suggested itself. But that would imply – but it could not be. He was not Vulcan. Such a thing was unheard of. Had never been known. But if there was even a chance that she was right, then she could not allow this fight to continue. It would destroy two lives and violate every oath she had ever taken as a healer. She must speak.  

But to do so would violate the rules of the challenge, offend T’Pau, and if she was wrong, her place at the temple might be -  

T’Rena seized her wrist. Sister, read Leonard McCoy.  

What? Why

He did something. He’s trying to save his friend. 

T’sha’al hesitated for a moment. She should not. She did not have his permission, and such a thing was a violation of her code of ethics. Picking up on emotions, thoughts that they randomly projected she could hardly help, but deliberately touching their minds was another thing entirely.  

But - if the human doctor T’Rena admired had indeed found a way to prevent the death of James Kirk, then she would be spared the need to interfere and the potential end of her life’s work.  

She reached for the mind of Leonard McCoy. It was the lightest of touches, but McCoy’s mind was open, and his subterfuge very close to its surface.  

"Oh!" Over the sound of the fight, her voice did not carry.  

T’sha’al! What is it? 

Your doctor is clever, little sister.  

She felt a flash of embarrassment. He is not mine, T’sha’al. What did he do? 

He gave his friend a neural paralyser. 

She felt confusion, then delight from T’Rena. Oh! He’s going to pretend that -  

I believe he is, yes.  

Oh, that is clever. T’Rena’s voice was suffused with admiration and relief.   

T’sha’al thought with brief amusement that she had not imagined Leonard H. McCoy, Human, Xenobiology Specialist and Starfleet Doctor, could rise any higher in her sister’s estimation. In that, however, she had clearly been mistaken.  

They both waited. The sounds of the fight were fainter now, and the air in the clearing was tense. Then, abruptly, a dreadful silence fell. T'Pau’s voice rang out across the space.  
Then grief hit her like a physical blow and she staggered.  

Sister! 

I am fine, T’Rena.  

She distantly heard McCoy’s voice, and her sister’s attention shifted back to the sands.  

T’sha’al took a steadying breath and scolded herself for her foolishness in not shielding. Of course, S’chen T’gai Spock did not know of the doctor’s deception. For him, the death was real. He had killed his friend. She hoped the deception would not be maintained long. His mind was strong, but he was overwrought and exhausted. She wondered how long he had been labouring under the strain of the approaching fever. The first pon farr was often harder than those that followed, due to the body’s first difficult time of adjustment to the strain about to be placed upon it.  

She understood him to be stationed on a ship of humans. Perhaps it would be appropriate to offer some kind of aid – his recovery from this ordeal would not be swift - she heard the sound of a transporter and knew from the quickly suppressed disappointment at her side that Doctor McCoy had gone. She heard footsteps drawing closer, and the voice of Spock, speaking to T’Pring. Ignoring their words, she reached out to each mind in turn.  

As she had expected, T’Pring’s mind was unaffected. The bond, ignored and unwanted as it had been, was gone, and its absence had, if anything, improved the outlook of the mind in which it had dwelled. She examined T’Pring’s mental landscape for any remnant of it, or any associated distress at its breaking, but found none. Satisfied that any future bond would be fully accepted, and healthy, she withdrew from the young woman’s mind, and turned to Spock.  

Instantly, the landscape was very different. His grief at the death of his friend, the roiling emotions of the fading fever, and his body’s exhaustion at the physical and hormonal demands laid upon it were beating against his impressive control, and threatening to tear it down. Gently, she took some of the worst of his grief, and veiled it from his conscious mind, reducing his immediate emotional distress. There was no need for him to suffer unnecessarily, not when his friend still lived.  

She heard T’Pau’s voice utter the traditional Vulcan greeting, and his broken reply. Resisting the urge to offer further emotional comfort, she returned quickly to the place in Spock’s mental landscape where his mind reached for another. The bond with T’Pring was broken, and dark. But the other, still seeking it’s completion, remained. Without touching him, she would know no further. She withdrew quickly, and touched T’Rena’s hand in time to see Spock’s figure disappear in a haze of gold light.  

T’Rena said, "T’sha’al?"

Around them, the procession was leaving the place of challenge. She shook herself. "We should return to the temple, my sister."

They walked slowly back the way they had come. T’Rena said quietly, "He was clever, wasn’t he? Doctor McCoy, I mean."
 
Deep in thought, T’sha’al did not respond.  

T’Rena added wistfully, "I’m sorry they left so quickly. I would have liked to speak to him."

T’sha’al thought of the broken bond in S’chan T’gai Spock’s mind. His distress, and the strange, incomplete bond that seemed to reach to his soul. She said thoughtfully, "We cannot know how the future will unfold, my sister."



USS Enterprise, same day, ship's time: 18.30

"In a pig’s eye." Jim threw Bones a look, and put his hand to Spock’s back, hurrying him out of sickbay. "Come on, Spock, let’s go mind the store." He didn’t need to be Spock’s closest friend to see that his emotional control was still not all it could be, and he wanted to get Spock away from any kind of audience. He felt like they both had had enough of being watched for one day.  

He hustled Spock to the turbolift. As they walked, he could see Spock in his peripheral vision look to him, and look away, over and over, as if he couldn’t believe the reality of Jim's presence at his side. As the turbolift doors closed, he gripped the handle and said quietly, "Deck Five."

Spock looked him in the eye for the first time since sickbay. He was paler than Jim had ever seen him, apart from a high spot of color in each cheek, and a fine trembling was apparent in his hands, which he was attempting to disguise by keeping them pressed to his sides. His breathing was shallow and his eyes wide, as he said, "I interpreted your comment to mean we would be going to the bridge, Captain."

Kirk shook his head. "Spock, I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through the past week, but after today I want to know you’re fully recovered before your next bridge shift."

Spock’s eyes dropped to the floor, and his shoulders seemed to slump slightly. Kirk said, "Spock, I’m not – this isn’t me questioning your competence. I know you’d be able to do your duty if we went to the bridge right now. But as your friend – I want you to rest. You need to rest."
 
Spock’s gaze was still on the floor as he said, "Yes, Captain."

Kirk took a breath and said awkwardly, "Okay."

The turbolift began to slow. Spock said suddenly, "Jim. I -" his voice seemed to choke in his throat. He tried again, stammered, "Jim, I wanted to - " He stopped helplessly.  

Kirk raised a hand. "It’s okay, Spock. You don’t have to say anything."  

They made the rest of the trip in silence. Jim wondered whether he should contact Bones, ask him to drop in on Spock whilst he was on the bridge.  

As the door to Spock’s quarters opened, he said, "Listen, I need to go to the bridge. Will you be okay?"
 
Spock said, in a detached tone, "I am fine, Captain. Thank you for your consideration, but please continue to the bridge." He was standing strangely still in the centre of the room as if waiting to be given further orders.  

Kirk looked at him. Spock was still wearing his uniform from Vulcan. There was dried blood (Mine? Probably.) on the sleeve, specks across his front, and grains of sand embedded in the back. He said, "Okay. I’ll go. Spock - change your clothes. Relax. I’ll call in and see you after my shift."
 
Spock said, not meeting his gaze, "It will not be necessary."
 
"Well, maybe not, but – I'll call in anyway."

There was no reply, so after a moment, he turned and headed for the bridge.  

As he entered the turbolift, he said, "Bridge." Then flicked the comm unit switch. "Kirk to McCoy."  

"Here, Jim. Is it Spock?"

"Yes."

"Do you need me?"

"No, I’ve just left him in his quarters with orders to relax. But I think you should go and see him."

"Now?"

Kirk watched the lights slip by behind the panels in the turbolift. Spock had been – uncomfortable, but not – ill. "No, I’m just – concerned, that’s all."
 
"He’ll be okay, Jim, but it’s going to take a bit of time for his system to normalise. That was a hell of thing he went through. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s out of sorts for a few days yet."

Kirk nodded. "Okay. I want him to rest for now, but I’d like you to take a look at him first thing tomorrow."

"Already planning to."

"Thanks, Bones."

*
 
As he stepped onto the bridge, Scotty turned, saw him, smiled in relief, and stood from the command chair. "It’s good to see you, sir."

"Anything to report, Scotty?" 

"Command approved our diversion to Vulcan, sir."

"I heard." He locked eyes with his third in command in relief. "Good news."

Scotty grinned back, "Aye, sir. And we’re on our way to Altair VI as ordered. Should only be a day behind schedule." 

"Thank you, Mister Scott."

The Scotsman nodded. "Anything else, sir?"

Kirk laid a hand on the side of the command chair. He said, "No thank you, Scotty. You stand relieved." He sat down carefully, suddenly aware of some aches and pains that hadn’t existed that morning. Behind him, he heard the turbolift doors open and close.  

A few minutes went by.  

A yeoman handed him a padd, and he thanked her automatically, staring unseeing at the words in front of him. Absently, his hand drifted to his neck. Easy to forget how strong Vulcans were. In his mind’s eye, he saw Spock’s face, distorted in the blood fever, and drew a breath, forcing himself to concentrate on the padd. If it wasn’t for Bones... 

It wasn’t Spock’s fault. I wanted it. I wanted to help, wanted him to live.  

And now he was sitting here, reading an unimportant report whilst his friend was still suffering. Spock had been so pale, so unlike himself.  

He remembered Spock’s face in sickbay. That smile. That unadulterated relief and joy. For Jim. For finding Jim alive. He found himself smiling in turn. He had not doubted that Spock was fond of him, considered him a friend, but to have it confirmed in such a dramatic way, to have Spock smile at him, grip his arms in delight – he was almost certain Spock would have embraced him, had McCoy and Chapel not been there.  

Then he recalled Spock’s face in the turbolift, saw him standing lost in the middle of his quarters. Thought of McCoy saying that he wouldn’t be back to normal for a few days. He tapped his fingers on the arm of the command chair, then thumbed the switch for the comm."‘Captain Kirk to Chief Engineer Scott."

"Scott here, sir."

"Report to the bridge please, Mister Scott." 

Scotty's bemused voice came back, "Er – aye, sir." 



Spock stood in the centre of his quarters. The room was too cold. The contrast with the heat of Vulcan was unpleasantly stark. There was sand in his uniform, and blood on his sleeve. His heartrate was too high. He could not control the trembling in his hands. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his shallow breathing. The blood fever had passed. His joy at seeing Jim alive had passed. And in their wake was a terrifying black hole of sensation that threated to draw him in.  

He was not able to control his physical reactions. The trembling had begun to spread through his body. He tried to take deeper breaths, but the invisible vice around his chest would not allow the expansion of his lungs. He took a few shaky steps towards his bed – perhaps if he lay down – tried to meditate. He walked into the side of his desk, and pain shot through his leg. He stumbled, and slumped to the floor. The metal of the deck was cold, but at least he was no longer required to remain upright. He sat with his back to the room divider, and closed his eyes.  

Jim’s face swam into his vision. Gasping, distended, dying. He snapped open his eyes and stared at the grey floor. Forget. Forget. But how could he forget? He had killed his Captain. His best friend. The man who had trusted him. Promoted him. Risked his career and his life to keep him safe. Who smiled at him like he mattered. The man he – but that was over now. The fever had passed. And taken with it, surely, his friendship with Jim. For how could there be forgiveness for this?  

The hole in his chest seemed to expand.  

Jim did not want him on the bridge. Had not wanted to stay with him.  And why would you keep the man who murdered you as your closest friend, your second in command? How could he be trusted? His breath caught in his throat as reality dawned. He would have to leave. Leave his home. Leave the Enterprise. Leave his friends. Leave – Jim. He would have no betrothed. No home to return to. A moan of despair broke from him, and he tugged his knees to his chest, lowered his head, and tried to focus on continuing to breathe.   

*
 
Jim walked from the turbolift, debating his approach. He’d literally left Spock less than half an hour ago. This was going to look like checking up on him. And he’d seemed – sensitive to the idea that Jim didn’t trust him anymore. But Spock was his friend. Jim was allowed to be concerned about him, over and above his responsibilities as his commanding officer.  

He stopped outside Spock’s quarters and hit the door chime. Just a friend, checking on a friend. There was no response. He frowned, and hit the chime again. Maybe he’d gone to back to sickbay after all. "Computer, locate Commander Spock."

The reply was immediate. "Commander Spock is in his quarters."

Jim stared at the closed door. Dammit. He glanced down the empty corridor, said quickly, "Computer, command override: access to Commander Spock’s quarters. Authorisation, Captain James T. Kirk." The doors slid open and he stepped inside.  

For a moment, he couldn’t see Spock at all. Then he saw a broken figure huddled against the divider between the bedspace and the main quarters, and his heart leapt into his throat. He crossed the room and dropped to his knees. "Spock, you okay?"

There was no response. He reached out to place his hands on Spock’s arms where they wrapped around his knees, and squeezed gently. "Spock, talk to me."

Spock slowly raised his head and stared at Jim. He looked like a man being woken from a nightmare. He said, "You are - on the bridge."
 
Jim made himself smile. "I was. Now I'm here again. You don’t get rid of me that easy. Look, I’m just going to call Bones, then -"
 
"Please do not." Spock’s voice was unsteady. "You - were right. I simply – require rest."

Kirk took a breath. "Okay. Well, let’s do that someplace other than the floor. Up you get, Mister."

Spock stared around, seeming to realise his location. He made to stand, and Jim seized his arms, practically lifting him upright. He forced another smile. "That’s a start. Next thing. Uniform. Off. Do you have –"  he looked around. Spock’s meditation robe was hanging next to his bed. Jim grabbed it. "This’ll do." He placed it into Spock’s hand, and guided him to the quarter’s small bathroom. "Right. Uniform off, robe on, back out here. Go." Being ordered around seemed to have at least temporarily brought Spock out of himself, as he went quickly and without complaint.  

Kirk crossed to the comm, and gave quick instruction to Rand. Whilst he waited, he stared at the bathroom door in concern. Spock was, at the least, in shock. And whatever else those Vulcan hormones were still doing to his system. He shouldn’t be left alone. And he didn’t want to see McCoy. And Jim couldn’t think of anyone else on board he would trust to look after Spock right now. Minutes ticked by. 

The quarters door chime sounded. He went to the door and took a tray from Rand. "Thank you, Yeoman." She nodded, and turned on her heel. He wasn’t that he didn’t still occasionally curse the headquarters genius that had assigned her, but goddamn she was efficient. He laid the tray down on the table. He’d said light food and drink, and she’d complied. There was fruit from Earth and Vulcan, and the exact drinks he’d requested.  

The bathroom door opened, and he turned. Spock was still pale, and worryingly unsteady, but he was at least out of uniform, and already looking a little more himself. He said, with an obvious effort to sound normal, "Captain, I -"

Jim raised a hand. "Let me stop you there, Spock. I’m off duty, and so are you, until at least alpha shift tomorrow, so I don’t want to hear another ‘Captain’ out of you until then, clear?" Spock blinked at him. Jim said, "In fact - " he pulled his uniform tunic over his head, glad that Bones had insisted on giving him a regulation black t-shirt underneath, and threw it over the back of Spock’s desk chair. "There we go. No rank here. Right -" he extended a hand to Spock. "Come on."
 
Spock walked towards the desk, but Jim said gently, "Not comfortable enough. Here." He led the unresisting Vulcan to the bed and sat him down, leaning him against the head of the bed with his legs stretched out, and fetched Rand’s selection of food, before sitting next to him, kicking his boots off, and leaning back against the head of the bed in imitation of Spock’s own posture. He put the food between them, and helped himself.  

Spock was staring at him. He nudged the food towards him. "Eat something, Spock. You haven’t eaten all day."

Spock seemed to gather himself, "Jim, I am – well. You need not -"

He gave his friend a half smile. "I know."

He picked up a strange looking fruit. "Here. Have a -" he stopped. "Okay, what is this?"

"Kasa fruit. I - did not know we had any on board."
 
"Huh. Well apparently, we do now." He broke off a section.  

Spock began. "Jim -"
 
Jim bit down. The initial sensation was quite pleasant, but ramped up quickly to molten fire. He coughed and grabbed for the water on the tray. 

Spock said flatly, "Humans find it quite – potent. It is – not popular outside Vulcan."

Jim coughed, rasped, "I can’t think why. It’s lovely."

He was gratified to see a small smile tug at Spock’s lips. He added, "Is there anything Vulcan but non-lethal on this plate?"

Spock indicated a blue-black fruit. "Pla-savas. Humans generally find it quite palatable."

Jim looked at it with suspicion. "Do you mean, in it’s own right, or in relief that it doesn’t taste like that kavas abomination?"

That small smile was back. "I think you will like it, Jim."

"Good enough for me." He took a large bite of the blue fruit, immediately relieved when the sensation in his mouth was mild, and sweet. He said round the fruit, "Oh nice."

He shoved the plate towards Spock with a chastising expression. Spock took a grape, somewhat reluctantly. Jim finished his pla-savas. Watched as Spock ate another grape, then said, "You’re doing that wrong."

Spock looked at him in surprise. Jim said, "Humans eat grapes like this." He tossed it in the air, and caught it in his mouth, chewing with a smile at Spock’s dumbfounded expression.  

"Jim, they do not."

"Yeah, they do. You’re just scared you won’t be able to do it. I get it, it’s an art, you really need a misspent youth -"
 
Spock took a grape from the bowl, flicked it upwards in a high arc and caught it easily in his mouth. Jim noted with satisfaction that the trembling in his hands had died down. And then wondered how in the hell Spock had managed to make that look elegant.  

He said, "Beginner’s luck. Let me see you do it again."

Spock repeated the action, but this time, as his wrist moved, Jim nudged his arm. The grape ricocheted off the wall nearest the bed and hit Spock in the cheek.  

Jim said. "Told you. Beginner’s luck." Then laughed at Spock’s dumbfounded expression.  



It was a dream. Jim, who should be dead. Was sitting next to him. On his bed. Eating fruit.  Jim, who should hate him. Was laughing with him. And talking again. About the ship. About their crew. Intermittently, he would nudge the bowl, and Spock would eat. He wasn’t hungry. The food tasted of nothing. But it pleased Jim, so he did it.  

The lighting in his quarters was low, and tinged with the red of a typical Vulcan sun. In its glow, Jim’s hair looked as it had at the place of challenge - golden. After half an hour, they had eaten the fruit, and without breaking conversation, Jim hopped off the bed, returned the tray to the desk, and almost before Spock could grow concerned that he might not return, got back on the bed.  

He was saying, "And I know fleet command likes to show off their starships, but honestly, dragging us halfway across the galaxy to be window dressing, for crying out loud - ‘ 

Without the bowl between them, Jim had sat closer than before. Spock could feel the warmth of him against his left arm. "Why the Reliant isn’t enough on her own, command only knows. She’s a great looking ship. I mean, she’s not the Enterprise -" He threw out an arm to indicate the walls around them, and Spock saw a bruise that McCoy had missed. On the underside of Jim’s arm: his own hand print, outlined in an ugly, painful, purpling smudge against his Captain’s skin. 

He felt his heartrate climb and his breathing become shallow. He closed his eyes against the sudden, wrenching hollowness in his chest. The room seemed to spin around him and reality was the vision in his head – Jim’s distended face, his eyes as the light faded from them.  

He tightened his hands on his thighs to stop a trembling that was threatening to overcome his whole body.  

Jim had stopped speaking but he couldn’t risk opening his eyes. He felt the bed dip as Jim moved. Leaving. Leaving. The single point of warmth at his arm disappeared. Only to be replaced by warmth along his entire side, as Jim shifted closer. There was a gentle touch on the back of his left hand, then the hand was carefully moved and encased in both of Jim’s.
 
Spock’s shields, already compromised, could not now stop him feeling Jim’s presence. His respect, his regard, his affection, his concern, his anxiety, his – his love, for the man at his side. And nowhere was there any blame, any condemnation, any negative feeling at all towards his friend. Spock bowed his head against a rush of emotion that threatened to completely obliterate his slender control. A part of him wanted to snatch his hand away. Another part wanted to hold on, and never let go.  

After a moment, Jim said quietly, "It’s okay, Spock. It really is. We’ll be alright, you and me. We’ll get through this. Together. Like always."

Spock didn’t trust himself to reply.  

They sat together as the lighting began to fade into ship’s evening. Spock felt tiredness begin to creep into his exhausted system. He felt it from Jim too, waited for him to move away. Instead Jim shuffled an inch or two down the bed until he could more comfortably lean against Spock. 

He said quietly, "When I was a kid, I was pretty competitive. Even with Sam. Especially with Sam, really. Always wanted to beat my older brother. I did too, a lot. I could never run faster than him though. He was built like a whippet back then.  Except one time, I nearly did. We were sprinting, and we were neck and neck, and I thought, this is it, this time I'm going to beat him. I just wanted one win, you know? But right before we got to the line he started to pull away. So I shoved him. He fell. Really hard. Hit his head on a rock. He was so still. I could see his blood on the stone. In that moment, I thought I’d killed him." Jim drew a breath. "He was in hospital for week. Head injury. It took Kodos to beat that as worst day of my life."
 
As he spoke, he was rubbing a thumb absently over the back of Spock’s hand. Jim’s quiet voice and that tiny friction were chasing away some of the darkness. Tiredness was beginning to possess his limbs. He still didn’t trust his voice, but wanted to convey some of his gratitude. He squeezed the hand that was holding his, then slowly, carefully leant his head until it rested against the top of Jim’s.  

The lighting began to fade into ship’s night.  



Leonard McCoy was up early. He was generally not an early riser, but concern for Spock had him up and about earlier than usual. He wondered if it was too early for a home visit, then decided not. He’d just pop his head in on Spock, if he was asleep, fine, if not, then now was as good a time as any for that scan. He was starting to regret letting him walk out of sickbay yesterday. That goddam Vulcan/ human physiology could be up to any crazy thing with that kind of stress on it. He stopped outside Spock’s quarters and hit the chime. No response. So asleep. Or-. His physicians mind came up with a myriad of things that could be wrong with the Enterprise’s first officer. None of them good.  

He swore to himself, remembering the last time he'd done this, and said, "Computer: emergency medical override: access to Commander Spock’s quarters. Authorisation: McCoy, Leonard H, Chief Medical Officer."

He strode in, apology all ready, and stopped. Spock was asleep. Peacefully too, which was better than expected. And surprising, given that he was still fully dressed in his meditation robe, and awkwardly half lying against Jim. Who was also asleep, leaning on Spock in turn, but slightly more comfortably stretched out, head nestled against Spock’s shoulder. 

As if sensing scrutiny, Jim stirred. McCoy took a moment to weigh up his options, then crept out the way he’d come. Question answered. Spock was fine. The scan could wait until later.  

He walked back to his quarters, deep in thought.  



Kirk came to consciousness slowly, but two things called themselves to his awareness fairly quickly. One was that various parts of him were aching. Two, was that he was very pleasantly warm, and that the source of the heat was the other body he was comfortably nestled against. Part of his mind noted drowsily that it was still early and that this was an incredibly rare occurrence, so full advantage should be taken of the opportunity for lazy morning cuddling. He had just pressed his face further into the soft material under his cheek when it moved slightly and the rest of his mind came to awareness with the speed of someone frequently summoned out of bed by a red alert klaxon.  

He sat up abruptly. The movement woke the sleeping Vulcan next to him, and Spock began to blink blearily. Jim had in the past imagined, when he had given the matter any thought, that Spock would come to awareness almost instantly, fully aware and logical from the moment of waking, not a hair out of place.  

He'd been amused to discover that this was not even nearly the case. Spock rubbed his eyes tiredly, and ran a hand through his hair, which, far from being perfect, was tousled and too much over one side. He blinked confusedly at Jim. For all that Kirk was a little embarrassed to be watching his first officer wake up, he couldn’t resist smiling at him. Early morning Spock was – there was no other word for it – endearing.  

"Hey," he said gently. "How are you feeling?"

Spock sat up, and stared at him, as if confused as to his presence. Kirk saw the moment that the memory of the previous day, and the reason for Jim being in his room at ungodly o’clock in the morning, came back to him. Spock’s expression shuttered.  

Jim felt disappointment creep into his face. He made himself smile.  

Spock said carefully, "I am well. You – need not have stayed."

Kirk gave him a half grin. "Didn’t consciously decide to. Just fell asleep. Long day yesterday."

If possible, Spock’s expression closed down even further, and Jim cursed himself.  

He looked away, said, "McCoy’ll be looking for you this morning, so probably best to go to sickbay first thing, get it out of the way."

"I shall do so, Captain."

"Right. Good."

Kirk stood. "I’ll, er –" he gestured vaguely in the direction of his own quarters. He pulled his boots on, walked to the door, and stopped. "Come to the bridge later if McCoy gives you the okay."

"Yes, Captain."

Jim nodded, and left.  



Spock sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the closed door. The roiling emotions and frightening fire of the fever had almost dissipated, and the deathly void that had seized him last night had faded in the warmth of Jim’s presence. He had slept well. Sanity and logic were once more in control.  

He had – killed Jim. Only McCoy’s quick thinking had rendered it a false death. And Jim had – sat with him. All evening. Slept at his side. Held his hand. And from that last he knew that Jim did not hate him. Did not even resent him. The affection that he had felt in brief, wonderful snatches before remained entirely intact. It was a miracle that he did not wish to question. But there could be no risk of a repeat.  

The desire for Jim that had tortured him prior to their arrival at Vulcan had faded. He had to believe that it was a symptom of the fever. Chose to believe that it would not arise again. But without a bondmate, if he continued to serve with his Captain, it was – logical – to believe that it could happen again.  

He knew that he would serve under James Kirk for as long as he was allowed. And if this had not dented Kirk’s faith in him, it seemed that there was little that would. So it was up to Spock to ensure that it was impossible for these circumstances to reoccur. He could not risk Jim’s friendship, his regard, or his life, again. It must be prevented.  

As a child, he had heard of a path of mind training. Complete dedication to the teachings of Surak. Pure logic, without emotion. The adepts no longer underwent the fires of pon farr. If he was to continue serving in Starfleet, he must consider Kolinhar.  



Spock didn’t come to the bridge. A quick enquiry to Bones elicited the news that he had insisted on Spock’s taking the day to further recover. Whilst Kirk approved the idea, Spock’s absence made his shift drag by as he tried not to worry about his friend. He found himself unable to banish the subject from his mind. He sat in the command chair, staring at the screen, wondering what he could have done differently, better. How could he have made this easier on Spock? What would have happened if they were further from Vulcan?  

He couldn’t have allowed Spock to die. Perhaps Spock would never have permitted it, but could someone else have acted in place of T’Pring? From what Spock had said, he thought not. The bond was – somehow important. But surely - if death was the only alternative? He’d seen how some of the crew looked at his first officer. He knew Spock didn’t notice, but if word had got out, he didn’t think he’d have been short of volunteers. There was even a woman in Spock’s own science team who looked a little like T’Pring. Unbidden, his mind supplied a vivid image. Lieutenant Carla Raines in the arms of his first officer.  

Kirk felt something ugly unfurl in his gut. That could never have happened. It was – unacceptable.  And this line of speculation was pointless. By the time Spock’s next pon farr came, their mission would be over. It was not something his Captain would ever need to concern himself with again.  

The thought should have been a relief.  

Notes:

I hope that was okay?! If you really hated having the actual events of the episode told from the POV of an OC, I'm sorry. If you really hated her, let me know, because some later chapters will need some rewriting.....

Up next: more fall out from Vulcan, which will be up fairly soon, just as soon as I edit. Then there's going to have to be a bit of a hiatus whilst I catch up on some RL stuff, sorry! :(

Chapter 12: The Aftermath

Summary:

More scenes set after Amok Time.

Not gonna lie, I had an absolutely horrible attack of writer's paranoia after posting the last chapter, and took it down again, but if I keep doing that we'll never get these two together! I was also panicking slightly because no-one was commenting. Turns out AO3 was having some email issues, so I'm choosing to believe it's that!

Also: this chapter contains what is probably my favourite line of dialogue I've ever written. I love McCoy.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

USS Enterprise, One week later. Stardate: 5086 (Terran Calendar: 30th March 2267)

Kirk watched his first officer over the chess board. It had taken him a week to persuade Spock to spend any time with him outside their shifts together. He understood it. After the intensity of their experiences on Vulcan, and the evening that had followed, Spock had retreated into his Vulcan shell. Kirk had respected it, but had not stopped asking for his company in the evenings. It had been more of a relief than he had expected when Spock had finally accepted.  

The game proceeded slowly as they made careful talk about the ship, and their crew. He realised quite quickly, and with surprise, that he was going to win, and the thought made him look to Spock in concern. He’d rarely won a game against Spock in so few moves. He thought back over the week that had passed. Spock had been an excellent officer. By anyone else’s standards. By Spock standards though, he had merely been – adequate. It was hardly something Kirk could complain about as his Captain. But as his friend -  

He said gently, “Spock, is - is everything okay?” 

Spock looked to him across the board. Something haunted crossed his face before he caught himself.  

“In what sense, Captain?” 

“Spock, I'm not your Captain right now.” 

“You are always my Captain, Jim.” 

Kirk couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face at the sheer sincerity in his tone. “Okay, but right now, I’m speaking as your friend. Your Captain, as ever, is happy with your performance. But your friend has noticed that you’ve been a bit – off your game. And he’s worried about you.” 

Spock looked down at the board between them. When he looked up, his face was neutral, and Kirk experienced a moment of trepidation that Spock was about to brush him off, pretend everything was fine.  

Then he said slowly, “I - have been experiencing some – symptoms. Headaches, difficulty concentrating. My sleep has been – interrupted.” 

Kirk said quietly, “Since Vulcan?” 

“Yes.” He did not add – other than the night I slept with you .  

Jim said slowly, “Is this something that usually happens – after? Will things get better on their own, or do we need to speak to McCoy?” 

“I - I do not know.” 

“Hey Jim.” McCoy nodded to his Captain, then turned back to the examination table, and patted Ensign Hodges on the shoulder. “Right, you're done. Next time you're feeling adventurous in a Jeffries tube, try not to break anything, 'kay?” 

The Ensign flushed and glanced at his Captain before muttering something affirmatory and almost running from sickbay.  

Kirk looked after him. “Anything I need to know about?” 

McCoy grinned. “Definitely not.” 

He waved Kirk into his office, waited for the door to close, then said, “Don't tell me, this is about Spock.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

McCoy looked at him before saying flatly, “Must be that weird Vulcan mind voodoo rubbing off on me.” 

He pulled open the cabinet near his desk and retrieved a bottle. “That was my last customer. Care to join me?” 

“Well, I'm off shift, so why not?” Kirk sat. 

McCoy poured them both a drink. 'The bad news is, you're right. Spock's still not himself. The good news is, it's not going to kill him this time.” 

Kirk looked at him in mild irritation. “That's hardly the bar we're aiming for here.” 

“Seems like it lately.” McCoy sighed. “Honestly Jim, I think what Spock wants more than anything right now is to pretend that none of this ever happened. So, anything that's not actually going to kill him, he's happy to ignore.” 

Kirk nodded. “Yeah, that's my impression too.” Since that morning in Spock's quarters, the Vulcan had been the consummate professional. That night, and the day before it, had never been referred to again. “But let's assume that what I want is my first officer operating at peak efficiency. How do we achieve that?” 

McCoy shook his head. “What Spock needs, he can't get here.” 

Kirk stared at him in disbelief. “Please tell me I'm not about to have to ask the bridge to lay in a course for Vulcan. Chekhov might mutiny.”  

McCoy snorted. “Even if I thought you should, I think Spock would object. He was horrified at the mere suggestion. Doesn't fit in with his 'pretending it never happened' strategy.” 

“Bones, what does he need?” 

“A healer. A Vulcan one. A specialist in sorting out bonds. Look Jim, I'm in uncharted waters here, but near as I can tell, Spock's symptoms are due to the fact that his bond with T'Pring - broke. And obviously that wasn't to happen. It was supposed to get – I don’t know - reinforced, I suppose. Stronger.” 

He took a sip, and continued. “Now, like I say, it's not fatal. Apparently, the bond wasn't strong enough before the break for any significant damage to be caused by the breaking. But it is - bothering him. The fact that he actually came to talk to me about it should tell you that.” 

“So where do we go to get a healer?” 

“I asked M'Benga. He said there are healers stationed in places other than Vulcan. So I checked. None near here.” 

Kirk rolled his eyes. 'Of course not.' 

“But then I thought, they're doctors, right? And Spock implied that this would be a pretty routine fix for a Vulcan Healer. So I thought- we could ask for a house call.” 

Kirk raised his eyebrows, “A house call?” 

“Why not? They are doctors. You go where you're needed.” 

Kirk blew out a breath, “It's worth a try. I don't want to have to put in another call to Komack about diverting the ship. He's still gutted he didn't get to court martial me last time.” 

“Thought you'd say that. So I've already put a call in to the Vulcan Medical Institute. I'm waiting for someone to call me back.” 

“Great. Thanks, Bones. Do you need me to call anyone? Hurry things along?” 

McCoy raised an eyebrow at him. “Spock’s dead friend Kirk calling for a chat? Don't worry Jim, I'll handle it.” 

Kirk smiled. “Oh yeah. I forgot. Well, let me know as soon as you hear from them.” 

Less than twenty-four hours later, Leonard McCoy was summoned back to his office by Chapel.  

“Call from the bridge for you, Doctor.” 

He sat at his desk. “McCoy here.” 

Uhura's voice said, “I've got a call from the Vulcan Council Chambers for you, Doctor. Shall I route it down there?” 

McCoy frowned. He'd been expecting the Vulcan Medical Institute. “Er - yes, Uhura. Thank you.” 

His desk screen lightened, then the image of a severe elderly Vulcan woman appeared.  

McCoy swallowed reflexively. “Uh - this is an unexpected honour, Ma'am.” 

T'Pau's face was stern. She said, without preamble, “I was informed of thy request, Leonard McCoy.” 

“Yes Ma'am.” More seemed to be required, so he added, “Commander Spock has been experiencing symptoms in relation to the breaking of his marital bond.” 

T'Pau nodded briefly. “Not wholly unexpected.” She added archly, “And as a human doctor this is a problem with which thee naturally cannot assist.” 

McCoy said evenly, “No, Ma'am. My skills don't extend to Vulcan bonds.” 

T'Pau said icily, “But they do, apparently, extend to raising the dead.”  

She looked steadily at him and McCoy found his brain had suddenly absented the conversation. He wanted to sink into his chair. She continued, “I am informed that Kirk is not only alive, but currently in command of thy ship.” 

McCoy swallowed reflexively. “I - er, I may have been a little hasty in my diagnosis of - er, death. Ma'am.” 

T'Pau stared at him for an unsettlingly long moment. Then to McCoy's intense relief, she continued abruptly, “I will contact the Temple. Thee may expect to hear from them shortly.” 

McCoy began, 'Thank you, Ma -' but the screen was already blank. 

T'sha'al lay quietly in the silence and relative isolation of her room under the eaves of the temple’s east wing. As much as she was aware of the importance of her work, there were days when it was simply mentally and physically exhausting.  

The need for rest was appreciated by all those who worked with her, so she was surprised to hear footsteps echoing along the corridor outside.  

There was no chance they would pass. This corridor gave access only to T'sha'al's rooms or the temple’s ancient roof space. Their isolated nature was quite deliberate. The other healers had rooms closer to the heart of the temple, and that was where T'sha'al spent most of her daily life. But the nature of her gifts meant that, when she was tired, the mental noise of others could be extremely wearing, and difficult to shield. So in the interests of her recovery time, and the privacy of others, she stayed in her rooms when the day had proved tiring.  

The footsteps drew nearer her door. She knew already the identity of her visitor, and stood politely as the knock came.  

“Please enter, Healer T'Lar.” 

The older woman opened the door, and T'sah'al relaxed slightly. Whatever the news was, it wasn’t bad. T'Lar had been her mentor since her very first day at the Temple, more than thirty years before and over the years they had grown naturally close. T'sha'al could read her mental state better than anyone, save her sister.  

“I apologise for disturbing your rest, T'sha'al.” 

She inclined her head. “You would not have done so without a good reason.” 

T'Lar nodded. “I have received a request from the Vulcan Council. A Federation starship has asked that a healer attend one of their personnel.” T'Lar’s voice took on a slightly disapproving tone. “We have been asked to acquiesce to their request. I am aware that you do not usually leave the temple, but your presence was specifically requested on this occasion.” 

T'sha'al felt a tiny frisson of fear touch her heart. Not only to leave her home, but to leave Vulcan. She had never even travelled outside of the province of her birth.  

T'Lar said, “Your sister, or a companion of your choice, may accompany you.” 

T'sha'al said quietly, “The healing required is to the mind of - S'chn T'gai Spock?” 

“Yes.” There was a pause, then T'Lar added, “You were present at the koon'ut'kal-i'fee.” 

“Yes. The mind of his former betrothed suffered no ill effects. His situation was – more complicated.” 

T'Lar said, “Due to his hybrid nature?” 

T'sha'al said with certainty, “No. I believe the complications to have been entirely Vulcan in origin.” 

She sensed T'Lar's curiosity, but the older woman was too much the professional to question further. Instead she said, “So I may inform T'Pau that you will attend?” 

T'sha'al said, “The request came from Council Leader T'Pau?” 

“Yes.” T'Lar added quickly, “But do not allow that to influence your decision.” 

T'sha'al suppressed a brief flash of mild amusement. T'Lar and T'Pau were both of noble families, and had grown up together. At some point during their shared history, a quiet, unspoken rivalry had formed which lasted to the present day. T'sha'al had no doubt at all that T'Lar would refuse on her behalf without hesitation.  

But that would not help S’chn T'gai Spock. And it would not satisfy her own curiosity as to what she had glimpsed in his mind.  

She said firmly, “It is my honour to serve.” 

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 5124.9 (Terran Calendar: 5th April 2267)

By the time McCoy arrived in the transporter room, Kirk was already there. “Where’s Spock?”  

“He’s on his way. Something time-sensitive in the lab.” 

McCoy said dryly, “You’d almost think he wasn’t looking forward to this.” 

Kirk cut him a glare.  

McCoy snorted. “He’s not the only one. I’ve met Vulcan healers. They’re all old, wizened, superior –“ 

Kirk said chastisingly, “Bones.” 

McCoy huffed to silence, then added, “Well, suffice to say, I’m really looking forward to a day of the superiority of Vulcans and the inadequacy of human medicine being shoved down my throat.” 

Kirk patted him on the back. “Hang in there, Doctor. Remember, it’s for Spock.” 

McCoy said ruefully, “For Spock,” as the door opened and the ship’s first officer entered.  

“I apologise for my tardiness, Captain.” 

“No need, Spock, they’re not here yet.” 

Behind him, the transporter tech said, “Getting the signal now, Captain.” 

“Beam them aboard, Lieutenant.” 

He straightened, and beside him, McCoy and Spock did likewise. They had discussed earlier whether it was necessary to wear dress uniforms, but Spock had indicated it would not be expected.  

The transporter beam faded into two forms in traditional Vulcan robes, light coloured, with delicate Vulcan script in gold down each side. Two women, neither old, nor wizened. One short and dark haired, the other slightly taller, lighter haired, and holding the hand of the first woman in a vice-like grip. She was, McCoy realised in sudden shock, entirely blind. 

Spock stepped forward. “Dif-tor heh smusma, Hakausu T’Sha’al, T’Rena. Welcome to the Starship Enterprise. Your presence honours us.” 

The shorter woman glanced at the woman at her side, then turned to Spock. Her voice was quiet, but lyrical and clear. “Sochya eh dif, S’chn T’gai Spock. Thank you for your welcome. We come to serve. I am T’Rena. This is my sister, honoured Healer T’sha’al.” 

“This is the Captain of the Enterprise, James Kirk, and our Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Leonard McCoy.” 

McCoy watched her dark eyes slip disinterestedly over his Captain, and land on him. For one absurd moment he thought she was about to smile and he blinked in surprise. She was, in a severe Vulcan way, quite striking. Then she looked down, quickly glanced at her sister, and said, “My sister is fatigued from the journey, may we rest?”  

Kirk said immediately, “Of course, we have assigned quarters for you. Spock, would you –“ 

His first officer said, “Please come this way, Healer T’sha’al, T’Rena.”  

T’Rena guided her sister from the platform, and they followed closely behind Spock.  

As the doors closed behind them, Kirk caught his CMO's arm, said, “Bones, they were at the ceremony. On Vulcan.” 

McCoy looked after them in surprise, “Were they?” 

“You didn’t notice?” 

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Jim, bit preoccupied trying to keep you both alive.” 

Kirk said interestedly, “Do you know her? T’Rena?” 

“No, should I?” 

“No, I just – never mind. Let’s catch up with Spock.” He was out of the room before McCoy could respond.  

T’sha’al gripped T’Rena’s arm as they moved through the ship. The necessity to shield strongly from the undisciplined human minds they passed meant that the only feedback she had from her surroundings was auditory. And the sounds were strange. The air was stale, and cold. It was – disconcerting in the extreme.  

They stopped, and her hand brushed the sleeve at her other side. S’chn T’gai Spock. His mind was nothing like she recalled from Vulcan. Even a surface reading showed that logic and reason once more held sway. But her presence was causing a – level of anxiety, carefully hidden. It would be kindest to reassure him quickly.  

They entered a different space, and T’Rena said quietly. “Your cabin, T’sha’al.”  

“Thank you.” She turned to the small group. “I would speak with Commander Spock. T'Rena, you need not stay.”  

Captain Kirk said, with automatic politeness, “Ma’am, I could arrange a tour of the ship?” 

T’sha’al felt a surge of excitement, quickly suppressed, but T’Rena said loyally, “Thank you Captain Kirk, but I will remain with my sister.”  

“My sister does not often get the opportunity to travel off world.'’ T’sha’al addressed the place she knew Kirk to be standing. “If it is not a great inconvenience to you, Captain, she would appreciate the opportunity to familiarise herself with such a fine vessel as the Enterprise.” 

T’Rena said, chastisingly, “T’sha’al, you are fatigued.” 

“And you are leaving me in the excellent care of Commander Spock. Captain, if you would -?” 

She sensed Kirk’s mood lift slightly, but he was still uncertain. “It would be my pleasure, Ma’am.” His voice changed. “Spock, are you sure you’ll be alright if we-“ 

“Of course, Captain. I will remain with Healer T’sha’al.” 

The voice of Doctor McCoy said, in concern, “Spock, do you want me to stay?” 

“That will not be necessary, Doctor.” 

As the door closed behind them, and she was left alone with only one, disciplined, Vulcan mind, T’sha’al almost slumped in relief. The other minds were still there, in uncomfortably close proximity, but without the physical immediacy she could more easily shield herself from them.  

“Healer T’sha’al, do you require rest?” Spock’s voice was politely concerned.  

“Yes, Commander, but your presence is not fatiguing. In fact, you can assist me.” She held out a hand and he took it. His confusion was clear across her mind.  

She said, “With your permission, Commander, I will take an image from your mind. Please observe the room.”  

As instructed, he looked away from her, into the room. In her mind, a clear imaged formed. A room, of a not dissimilar size to her rooms at the temple, but grayer, and plainer, without a window. She memorised the layout, and dropped his hand, murmured, “Thank you, Commander,” then walked across to the small table and sat down.  

She sensed him watching her with interest. Some of his anxiety at her arrival had begun to be replaced by curiosity.  

She said lightly, “Since birth. One cannot miss what one has never known.” 

“Forgive my curiosity.” He came towards the table.  

She said warmly, “You only thought it. It was presumptuous of me to answer what you did not voice. Please sit.” 

She heard his movement as he obeyed. She waited he stilled, hands resting in her lap, then said, “You have nothing to fear from me, Spock. You must know that your bond with your former betrothed was not strong. The manner of its breaking caused some lingering trauma to your mind, but it can be remedied. All will be well.” 

He said formally, “Thank you, Healer T’sha’al.” 

She said, “If you would like to maintain formality, then Healer is fine. I would also have no objections if you simply wished to call me T’sha’al. May I call you Spock?” 

“You may.” He hesitated for a moment. “T’sha’al.”  

She smiled at him, and his surprise almost made her laugh. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. For obvious reasons, I was not able to spend hours in front of a mirror as a child, policing my expressions for signs of emotionality. I am therefore somewhat - freer than I should be.” 

“It is not – discomforting. I was merely surprised.” 

“Again, I was presumptuous.  I hoped, living amongst humans, that you would not find it discomforting. I am pleased that such is the case.” She took a breath. “Are you ready to begin, or would you like time to meditate first?” 

He took a breath, then said, “I have no objections to commencing immediately, if you are sure you do not require rest.” 

“I am well, thank you, Spock. My sister is occasionally somewhat – over protective.” 

He leaned forward, and she did likewise. Placing her fingers against his temples, she felt him mentally brace as she murmured the ritual words.  

Relax, Spock, this will not be a trial for you. She projected her own calm into his still anxious mind.  

My apologies, T’sha’al  

No need. There is some fear behind your anxiety, Spock. She asked gently, In what is it rooted?  

I did not enjoy the experience of melding as a child. Behind the bald statement, she caught flashes of memory – fear of exposure. Fear that every touch would expose his emotional, human, heart to these cold, emotionless adults.  

You need not fear it now. May I? At his hesitant agreement, she drew the worst of the fear from those memories, reassured the child with the adult’s certainty. No Vulcan should fear the meld, Spock, it can be a truly transformative and enriching experience, with a willing and open mind.   

She felt the truth of her words sink in as she moved carefully past his conscious awareness to the source of his current symptoms. As she had expected the bond had ripped, not broken cleanly. She sent, Spock, as expected, the bond is not deep. I can remove all that remains, now, and heal the wound, if that is your wish.  

That is my wish, T’sha’al 

Very well. You should not be able to feel much at all as I proceed, but if that changes, please tell me.   

I shall. May I assist in some way?  

She paused. That was not a question she was usually asked. She sent, If you were to occupy your conscious mind, perhaps with a meditation, it would ensure that I am not disturbed by any stray thoughts.   

I shall do so.   

Thank you.  

She felt his mind slip with impressive speed into a meditative trance. She began to carefully and gently remove the last vestiges of the bond with T’Pring, and heal the area around. As she worked, she gradually became aware of the other something in Spock’s mind. The thing that had called her attention on the sands of Vulcan. It was not as strong now as it had been then. Something had called to it during Spock’s time, and it had responded. However, she was closer to it now, and its nature was more readily apparent. She resisted the urge to turn to it immediately, but slowly, meticulously, continued her work. Only when she was sure that Spock’s mind was healed, and free to accept any future bond without restraint or injury, did she turn back to that insistent mental glow.  

In her mind’s eye, it took the form of a ribbon of gold. It stretched away from her, seeking a completion she could not see. The part of it in Spock’s mind split out like infinitely fine but incredibly strong golden thread. The more she looked, the more there seemed to be, its fine golden filaments reaching into every part of his being – mind, body, and soul. It was not like any bond she had ever seen, but it was a bond, of that she was certain. She had never seen one herself, they were so rare, but she had heard of such a thing, in accounts from healers deceased.   

Carefully, she withdrew from Spock’s mind, touching his consciousness lightly as she passed. It is complete.   

She felt his surprise with some amusement as she sat back.  

“T’sha’al - you have finished?” 

“Yes.” 

“There is no further healing required?” 

“Do you feel as if there is?” 

She waited whilst he examined his own mind. He said, “I - I do not.” 

“I would concur. The bond was weak. Your mind is strong. It was not difficult to allow it regain its former balance.” 

“Thank you, T’sha’al.” 

“You are welcome, Spock.” 

She waited as he struggled to overcome his natural unwillingness to discuss his most private thoughts with a stranger. After a moment, he said, “T’sha’al, may I ask a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“I do not have a basis for comparison, but I -  never felt my bond with T’Pring was especially strong. Nevertheless, I was given to understand it would bring us together at the appropriate time. That we would be drawn to each other. That this would happen naturally. It did not.” He swallowed, then continued. “I wish to know what to expect of a future bond. I accept that my hybrid nature may mean that I am never able to form a true bond, but this obviously invites the conclusion that I will never be able to create a bond strong enough to draw myself and my bondmate together, as happened with T’Pring. She desired another, and I – did not desire her.” 

T’sha’al listened in silence. As he spoke, she felt his Vulcan reticence at speaking of such things crying out for him to stop, even as his concern, his fear that he would never know a true bond, drove him to speak. As he finished, she realised that he had already convinced himself that his assumptions were correct, and had braced for her agreement of the truly desolate state he had outlined.  

She took a breath, and considered her response. It could be difficult to convince someone of the truth when their mind was already made up.  

She said gently, “Spock, are you aware that I was present for your koon-ut-kal-I-fee?” 

He stiffened slightly, “I - was not. I was informed that a healer would be present but I – “ 

She waved a hand. “There is no reason for you to have known. My role in the ceremony was not required, and you were deep in the blood fever for most of the time.” 

She felt a sharp embarrassment begin to take root between them. She said quickly, “Spock, what do you know of my work at the temple?”  

He said uncertainly, “I was informed that you were pre-eminent amongst the healers of the temple, second only to Healer T’Lar.” 

“That is so, but do you know what I do?”’ 

“I assumed – such as you have done today.” 

“Indeed. I specialise in marital bonds. I particularly work with healing minds that have suffered from bonds which were broken before their time. But I am also fortunate in that my particular skillset allows me to deal most effectively with those minds that are the worst affected by the breaking: those that are in the grip of the blood fever.” 

She knew without being able to see him that Spock was staring at her in surprise. 

She continued, “I tell you this so that you will understand my familiarity with the effects of pon farr, my level of expertise in dealing with life-bonds, and therefore the amount of credence you should give the statements I am about to make.” 

He said hurriedly, “T’sha’al, I did not mean to imply –“ 

“You did not, Spock, but you have a particular pattern of thought that would lead you to doubt the accuracy of my statements, and so I am establishing clearly in advance that such doubt would be illogical.” 

“To what pattern of thought do you refer?” 

“Your belief that any difference between you, and what you believe to be Vulcan normality, is the result of the fact that you are half human. It is – somewhat ingrained.” 

He was staring at her again. She felt his anxiety, and confusion.  

She continued gently, “I can, however, understand where this belief has arisen. It has also been the assumption of those with whom you have interacted.” She added dryly, “Up to, and including, Council Leader T'Pau.” 

He said, with hesitancy, and she could feel his determination to allow none of the profound emotions associated with this topic to become apparent in his voice. “It has frequently been the case.” 

“Spock,” she said mildly, “I cannot speak to your experiences in all areas of life, but I know that your experience of the blood fever was an entirely typical Vulcan one, in both impact and intensity.” 

She let him absorb this, then added, “The differences lay only in the events themselves- the challenge and the combat.” 

She felt some pain begin to creep into his mental landscape. She said gently, “You must be aware that your experience was – highly untypical. And distressing. You must not allow it to – colour your expectations of the pon farr in future.” 

He said unsteadily, “But if any future bonds are also not strong –“ 

She shook her head. “I believe there were three reasons why your bond with T'Pring was not sufficient to draw you together at the appointed time. First, your minds were not highly compatible. This would not have been an issue – such things can be overcome – were it not for existence of the other two reasons.  

“Second, - and I imply no criticism of your former betrothed when I say this - her mind was, and is, not naturally predisposed to the formation of strong marital bonds. There is nothing unusual in that, but it rendered her even less suitable as a match for a mind such as yours, where the drive to do so is strong.”  

After a moment, he said, “Then you believe that in future it may be possible for me to form a bond - with another - which would lead to a more traditional experience of the blood fever.” 

“I am certain of it, Spock.” 

She felt the relief of this, and listened to his breathing grow steadier.   

After a moment, he said, “You referred to three reasons why my bond with T'Pring was not strong.” 

“Yes.” She took a moment to marshall her thoughts.  He misinterpreted her hesitation as reluctance to impart painful information and said, “It is to do with my hybrid nature?” 

T'sha'al said, with dry fondness, “I refer to my earlier comment around your tendency to assume that.”  

She took a breath. “Spock, the third reason is so fundamentally Vulcan in nature, it does not occur in any other species we have yet encountered. Even amongst our kind, it is rare.  

“Your bond with T'Pring was weakened during your time not because your mind did not seek it’s mate, but precisely because it did. There is another potential bond in your mind, and it’s completion was sought as a priority, and to the neglect of your bond with T'Pring.” 

For the first time in their conversation, she felt some doubt in her infallibility begin to suggest itself to his mind. He said, “T'sha'al, I understood that it is - not possible for two marital bonds to exist in one mind at once.” 

She nodded. “That is true in all circumstances but one. Spock – you have a T'hy'la.” 

T’Rena listened respectfully as Captain Kirk walked and talked them - in what seemed like almost unnecessary detail - through an area of the ship he had described as main engineering. She had a very limited knowledge of starship design and function, and although it was interesting to finally have the opportunity to tour one, instead of confining herself to guest quarters, she sensed that her lack of expertise and enthusiasm was beginning to tell. She was experiencing a mild level of anxiety that a life confined almost entirely to research in the Temple’s library had not adequately prepared her for prolonged social interaction with two humans whose daily life was to travel the galaxy, meet with new species and see new worlds. And to her disappointment, although he had accompanied them, Leonard McCoy had not spoken a great deal during the tour, leaving Captain Kirk to essay what was almost an uninterrupted monologue about the apparent excellence of this ship, and field her occasional polite questions.  

As they came to a halt in the middle of the space, Kirk was hailed by a man in a red uniform with an indecipherable accent. He murmured his excuses and crossed the room, leaving T’Rena with Leonard McCoy. She had been hoping an opportunity to speak to him about his latest published paper would present itself, but now they were temporarily alone, her mind was failing to supply her with so much as the title. As the seconds ticked by, she stood, ostensibly relaxed and mildly interested in her surroundings, whilst casting around desperately for something to say.  

Fortunately, Doctor McCoy was not so afflicted. In that lilting accent she was beginning to very much enjoy hearing, he said lightly, “Are you, er, a keen student of starship design, Ma’am?” 

She glanced quickly at him, concerned lest her feeling of being out of her depth had been quite so obvious. He looked back at her, and his eyes were amused. She realised, with a little thrill, that not only had he noticed, he had not deemed this a defect on her part, and was in fact attempting to use it as a social bonding experience, in sympathising with her plight. She thought, how delightfully human of him, and said quickly, lowering her voice to indicate that she was happy to participate in this experience, “I am not. I fear my lack of expertise in this area may have been apparent to Captain Kirk.”  

He said, with a smile that made her immediately delighted she had been so quick to recognise a human social cue, “Ma’am, the man who built this ship has less expertise in this area than Captain Kirk.” He lowered his voice to match hers. “Between you and me, Jim Kirk is something of a starship nerd.” 

T’Rena felt a rush of subdued glee at this continuation of their shared social bonding experience. An appropriate riposte occurred to her, one that would demonstrate not only her familiarity with his work, but also her ability to adroitly handle human social interaction.  She said, mentally congratulating herself on successfully navigating a potential minefield of responses, “It would appear so, but I would add that someone who has published no less than three papers on comparative alien physiology as it applies to Andorian-Human and Human-Andorian physiological differences, specialising in surgical approaches, could also be considered – a nerd.”  

Maintaining a look of absolute innocent neutrality, she turned back to him, hoping to see that smile again, but immediately feared she had mis-stepped. He wasn’t smiling at all, but staring at her in genuine disbelief. She opened her mouth to – say something, to soften, or recall the remark – after all she had just called one of her chosen field’s most respected physicians a nerd to his face – when Kirk returned.  

“I’m sorry about that, shall we move on?” 

As they passed out of the double doors back into the corridor, T’Rena felt her level of anxiety increase and tried to think of a reason to once again address McCoy – perhaps an apology would be appropriate? Is nerd a very offensive term to humans? The equivalent word in Vulcan was used mainly by the young, it was true, but was still a badge of honor. As she was formulating the words, Kirk said, “And that’s our tour. Can I show you to your quarters? They will be next to those of Healer T’sha’al.” 

T’Rena blinked at him, only long years of Vulcan training stopping the disappointment from showing on her face. “The tour is complete?” 

Kirk said in surprise, “Well, usually, yes, unless there’s anywhere else you’d like to see?” 

T’Rena risked a glance at Doctor McCoy, who didn’t look immediately thrilled at the prospect of prolonging this particular experience. She said slowly, “No, that’s fine, thank you, Captain. I shall wait in my quarters for my sister to conclude the healing.”  

Kirk looked at her a little oddly, glanced to McCoy, then said, “Are you sure? It’s no problem if there’s somewhere else you’d like to see. I mean, obviously the weapons systems are off limits, but - “ 

T’Rena said hastily, before her logical sense could assert itself ahead of her voice, “Sickbay.” 

Kirk blinked. “Sickbay? You want to see – sickbay?”  

McCoy spared him a glance, and a dry, “Not everyone is into engines, Jim.” 

She nodded, “Only if it would be no trouble -” she glanced a little anxiously to Leonard McCoy. “I would not like to intrude, I’m sure you are very busy -” 

She had half expected him to look irritated – humans wore their emotions so freely, but instead he seemed – pleased.  

Kirk said, also looking to McCoy, “Well, it’s not really my area. Doctor?” 

McCoy caught her eye, and for the second time since she’d set eyes on him, smiled. “It would be my honour, Ma’am.” Then, to her barely concealed consternation, offered her his arm. A number of things occurred to T’Rena simultaneously. One, it was unlikely he was unaware that Vulcans were touch telepaths, and that it was therefore considered impolite to invite touch in such a way. Therefore, this was an automatic gesture of human politeness, that would likely be withdrawn imminently, particularly when Doctor McCoy became aware of the warning look that had just appeared abruptly on his Captain’s face. Two, she was finding almost everything this man said or did, illogically charming, and there were no other Vulcans in proximity to disapprove, so there could really be no harm in accepting the gesture in the spirit it was intended. Entirely in the interests of maintaining good human/vulcan relations whilst aboard a human vessel, obviously. 

Before Kirk could speak, and her more logical mind could intervene, she took the proffered arm. “Thank you, Doctor McCoy.” 

James Kirk watched his CMO and guest depart down the corridor. Neither of them seemed to notice he wasn’t accompanying them. He glanced back the way they’d come. He needed to check in on the bridge. He wondered how Spock was getting on. This healer, even on very brief investigation, had seemed highly thought of, which was particularly impressive when the people doing the thinking were Vulcans. Nevertheless, he wished she’d hurry up. He wanted his first officer back. Wanted chess games, and banter, and not the strained atmosphere they’d been living in since before Vulcan. He missed his friend.  

He worried the skin between his eyes. Normality, he thought tiredly, that’s what I want. Just one Vulcan on board. Everything like it used to be, before. He hoped this woman was everything her reputation suggested.  

Just give me Spock back. Please.  

The room had fallen silent. She waited.  

After a long moment, he said, shaken, “T’sha’al, that is – mere legend. From the time before Surak.” 

“It has become a legend amongst our people, Spock, but the legend is based on truth. When I was a young adept, there were elders at the Temple who had encountered such a bond. I touched the mind of one. It allowed me to recognise yours.” 

He began, “But – I cannot- if this is so - how would such a thing go unnoticed?” 

She said simply, “The bond is rare. To my knowledge, I am one of only three healers on Vulcan who would recognise it. And even to me, it’s presence would not have been obvious, but for it’s attempts to reach beyond your mind for that of its mate. And it was strengthened by the onset of your pon farr. Indeed, it is entirely possible that your time was triggered by exposure to the mind of your T'hy'la.” 

She added quickly, “But that is merely speculation on my part.” 

She heard him stand, begin to pace the room.  

“Spock, this distresses you. Why?” 

“I – have no wish to return to Vulcan.” 

She frowned. “Why would you return to Vulcan?” 

She felt him turn to her in desperation. “Because if what you say is true, and I have – this, then my bondmate is on Vulcan. Any other bonds I might form would be – purely secondary, is that not so?” 

“Yes, but that does not negate them, and Spock,’” T'sha'al said with certainty, “your T'hy'la is not on Vulcan.” 

“How can you be sure?” 

T'sha'al gave a huff of almost laughter. “Because if they were, you would never have left. You would not have been able to leave, not during your time.” 

Even without her sight, she knew he was staring at her in consternation.  

She said gently, “Spock, is there no-one to whom you are – drawn? Someone in whose presence you feel comfortable? Without knowing why? Perhaps even - illogically?” 

She felt the moment that realisation landed. His rejection of it was almost a physical recoil. He said, harshly, “That is - not possible. He is not Vulcan.” 

T'sha'al raised her eyebrows. “Spock, before your birth, it was said that your existence was not possible. Is that not so?” 

He did not reply. She said gently, “So it could also be the case that in this, as in your birth, you are expanding our knowledge of what is truly possible?” 

She felt his mind whirling, trying to both accept and reject the possibility simultaneously. She added, “Spock, it is illogical to refuse to believe that which is so.” 

He did not reply.  

She said, “The person you are thinking of – they are a member of the crew of this ship?” 

“Yes. And as such, any relationship between us of an intimate nature would be highly improper.”  

“Ah.” She sighed. “That is unfortunate. Forgive me – I am unfamiliar with the regulations of your Starfleet – would it be then, forbidden?” 

Spock looked uncomfortable. “I am not – it is not an area of the regulations I have had cause to examine in detail.”  

“But surely, relationships are formed on this ship? I understood your voyage to be a long one.”  

“Yes, but this would be – different.”  

She said gently, “Because he is your Captain?”  

She felt shock, and a reflexive desire to deny it, followed by a swift realisation of the futility of doing so. He said, so low she almost missed it, “Yes.” 

She said, “I apologise for my bluntness. And for what must feel like an invasion of privacy. I would not have known, had I not been present at the koon-ut-kalifee.”  

He turned to her quickly, “It was – apparent?” 

She shook her head. “Only to me, and I merely suspected his identity – I was not certain.”  

Spock said, with sudden vehemence, “He cannot know.”  

She blinked in surprise. “But, Spock – why not?”  

“He does not share -” He broke off. “He would not –” he stopped again. Then finished quietly, “I would not have him feel obligated to me.”  

T'sha'al said in surprise, “Spock. He is your T'hy'la. It would not be - obligation. It would be his will. I cannot imagine it could be otherwise.” 

He shook his head. “You do not know him. He would feel – bound to me.” He thought of Kirk’s sadness over the relationship with his son, sacrificed for his career. “It would make him - unhappy.”  

T'sha’al said slowly, “I find that – an unlikely outcome, however you are correct, these bonds are rare, and I do not know your Captain, and I am therefore forced to accept the likelihood of your conclusion.” 

He said, almost a murmur, “How? How could this happen? He is not Vulcan. We are – very different.” 

T'sha’al looked softly amused. She said, “Spock, you may as well ask me, why is love? That is outside of my expertise. I do not know. I know simply that what is, is.”  

After a moment, she felt him gather his scattered thoughts, and firmly compartmentalise his emotions, presumably for later meditation. Once again, she was impressed with his command over his physical and mental responses. His ability to speak through the fires of pon farr was suddenly less surprising.  

He said, “Thank you, Healer T’Sha’al. You have been of inestimable assistance and I am grateful for your forbearance at agreeing to travel so far.” 

She waved this away. “It is my duty.” She hesitated, aware that whilst that statement was indeed true, it was not her complete motivation in travelling to the Enterprise. She added, “Spock, to be entirely truthful, I suspected the nature of your bond at the koon-ut-kalifee. Part of my reason for travelling here was to ascertain if I was correct. What you have – is extremely rare.” 

She felt an odd reaction from him to her words – a strange sense of dread, at being the subject of the professional interest of a healer. Strange impressions of trying to hide his dual nature, the intrusiveness of their scientific or medical detachment, and the sense of being constantly exposed. She added gently, “But it is only your concern, and his, and no-one else’s.”  

He said, and she could feel his conscious attempt to overcome that dread, “Whilst that is true, I appreciate your assistance, T’sha’al. If – any further – issues - arise, may I contact you?” 

She said immediately, “Of course. When I return to the temple, I will message you from my private terminal, then you will always be able to contact me directly. Unless, of course,” she added lightly, “you would prefer to go through T’Pau and T’Lar.” 

He said, even quicker than she had replied, “I would not.” 

She sent a little of her amusement to him, and felt something in him relax. She rose, then added, “Spock, before you leave, may I ask you one question in regards to your Captain? It is only professional curiosity on my part, and you must feel entirely free to not answer.” 

She felt his hesitation, then a new determination to be helpful to her. “Please ask, T’sha’al.” 

“Have you melded with him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Recently?” 

“Twenty-eight standard days ago.” 

“Ah.” Even by human standards, her face was alight with interest.  

Spock found himself curious to know her thoughts. “Do you believe that to be significant?” 

She did not reply, seemingly lost in thought. “Had you melded with him prior to that date?” 

“I had not. It is not something I would undertake lightly.” 

She nodded. “And you have known him for how long?” 

“Seven hundred and ten standard days."

She said meditatively. “Fascinating.” Then, as if sensing his curiosity, added, “I am only theorising, you understand? There is simply not a large enough sample of experience for definitive conclusions about this type of bond to be drawn.” 

“That is understood, T’sha’al.” 

“You are towards the top of the upper percentile, in terms of age, to have your first Pon farr. It is possible that the meld with your Captain was the trigger for that event.” 

She sensed his shock. He said, “It was – It was not a prolonged meld.” 

“It these circumstances, it would not need to be. Your body was ready, and your mind was merely awaiting the touch of its chosen bondmate.” T’sha’al acknowledged to herself that she was slightly overstepping the boundaries of professional curiosity as she added, “You were aware of none of this, Spock, so why did you meld with him?” 

“At his request.” 

“At his request?” In other circumstances, he would have found the surprise on her face almost comical.  

“Yes.” 

“But – he is human.” 

“Yes.” 

“And therefore virtually psy-null.” 

“Yes.” 

T'sha’al said in confusion, “My experience with humans is naturally limited, but I have observed that they generally do not welcome any kind of psychic connection. The meld in particular is seen as particularly invasive, however unjustified that belief.” 

“He is – an unusual human.” 

Why did he request the meld?” She added quickly, “If it is not a breach of your regulations to tell me.” 

“There were two occasions during the first year of our mission when attempts were made to replace the Captain with a duplicate. He suggested that if I was familiar with his mental landscape, I would always be able to identify with certainty if I was in the presence of the true captain of the Enterprise.” 

She sat still for a long moment, then Spock was stunned to hear her laugh, quietly, but distinctly.  

He said, in confusion, “T’sha’al?” 

“Forgive me, Spock, I am not making light of the situation, and you do know him best. But that does appear to be a very convenient excuse to touch the mind of one to whom you are drawn, does it not?” 

When he did not reply, she said lightly, “I am sorry that I am not better acquainted with your Captain. He does indeed seem an – unusual individual.” 

Leonard McCoy, field physician, eminent surgeon, Starfleet officer, decorated member of the Federation’s Medical Corp, was in his own sickbay. His fiefdom, his kingdom. Where he knew every inch of every instrument, every skill of all his personnel, his word was law, and even James Kirk rarely overruled him. But right now, he was a little - discombobulated. The source of this discomfort was standing next to him, listening with apparently rapt attention as he talked through the enhancements and upgrades to the ships newest diagnostic biobed.  

He’d prepared himself to be ignored. Patronised. Overlooked. Condescended to. And he’d been quite prepared to grit his teeth and bear it. What he hadn’t remotely been ready for was – interest. Active engagement. And a level of expertise in the field of xenobiology that rivalled his own. T’Rena’s knowledge was differently attained: he had managed to glean that she seemed to have a research post at the temple, but that was as far as he’d got, since every time he tried to steer the conversation around to her work, she asked another question.  

And not the polite, distant, relatively simplistic questions she had asked Jim earlier. Showing her sickbay had started to feel a bit like an inspection tour from the head of Starfleet Medical. If the head of Starfleet medical was young, female, Vulcan and quite strikingly attractive. She wanted to know the function and usage of every piece of equipment. He had begun with fairly brief, basic answers, and learnt quickly that that approach simply led to more questions. 

He’d assumed that there was a certain level of – politeness - to her questions. Professional interest, certainly, but primarily a way to entertain herself while she waited for her sister. But after she interrupted him with an elucidating comment for the third time, he was forced to the conclusion that her interest was not only genuine, but deeply felt.  

And she was seemingly interested not just in sickbay, and his work on the Enterprise. She referred repeatedly to papers he had written and had, apparently, not only read them, but been impressed, a fact that she seemed keen, in an understated Vulcan way, to communicate. 

And it was this last that had thrown him a little. Leonard McCoy knew his role on this ship. It was to keep as many of her crew as healthy as he could for as long as possible. Ideally, until the Enterprise docked over Earth in three years time. His other professional interests: surgical advances in xenobiology, research opportunities thrown up by the new planets and species the Enterprise encountered, had had to take a back seat to simply keeping her crew alive and well. He’d known that would be the case when he signed on. It had been one of the reasons he’d taken some persuasion.  

He’d never tell Jim, but the argument that had ultimately won him over hadn’t been exploration, or discovery, or the freedom inherent in their distance from Starfleet. It had been the simple thought that had occured to him, late one night, that if he let Starfleet’s youngest Captain go on his great voyage of exploration for five years, and he never came home, there would always be a small part of Leonard McCoy's mind that would be convinced his presence could have made a difference. And he hadn’t been sure he’d be able to live with that.  

So here he was. And there was an argument to be made already that the little voice had been right. And serving on the Enterprise was proving one of the more interesting experiences of a varied career. But it didn’t mean that he didn’t occasionally feel a pang of professional disappointment, turning down yet another lecture opportunity, offer of surgical collaboration, or sending off his findings to be studied by someone else. He still managed to turn out the occasional  paper, to a limited audience of fellow medical professionals, but never, in all his time on the Enterprise, had he been met anyone who’d even read one, let alone admired one.  

He managed to contain his curiosity on this point, until she worked a complimentary reference to a paper that was at least ten years old into a conversation about the new species- specific settings on Starfleet’s latest model dermal regenerator.  

He lowered the regenerator and said in polite bemusement, “Ma’am, have you read everything I’ve written?”  

And regretted it instantly when she flushed. She said, a little defensively, “I read all xenobiology papers that come to the temple library.”  

It occured to him that at least two of the papers she’d referenced had been primarily surgical in interest, but decided it would be deeply unchivalrous to point that out. “Ah. Yes, of course.” In an effort to correct his misstep, and hopefully make her regain some of the enthusiasm that she’d lost, he said, “As it happens, I’m, er, I’m working on another paper at the moment.”  

She looked to him immediately with pleased, professional interest. “Oh! On what subject?” She caught herself and added, “If you can tell me, of course.”  

McCoy touched her arm very lightly, and she allowed herself to be guided towards the nearest computer terminal.  

He said, “Ma’am, -“ 

Her interruption was quick, “I would have no objection if you wished to call me T'Rena, Doctor McCoy.” 

He smiled at her. “Then you must call me Leonard, Ma - T’Rena.” She was doing that smiling with her eyes thing that he’d seen Spock do, but managing to make it look significantly more charming. He said, as he pulled out a chair for her behind the desk. “T’Rena, have you ever heard of a Horta?”  

Spock sat in the undisturbed near-silence of his room. He had left T’sha’al to rest, with her reassurance that she needed no assistance to contact her sister and arrange for their departure.  

He had a T’hy’la. James Kirk, his closest friend, his captain. Was also his T’hy’la. The mere concept was extraordinary. And yet, to some deep part of his mind, not a complete shock. He had felt drawn to Jim from very early in their acquaintance, and now, it seemed, there was a rationale for that attachment. The thought was almost a relief. At least now the source of his sometimes intense reactions to his friend were clear, and could be accounted for, be more easily anticipated and suppressed.  

Friend, brother, lover. They were friends. They were already, in Spock’s experience at least, closer than brothers. And the other – had been an aberration. A product of his time, and the confusion of his mind over the presence of another potential bond.  

He debated again the wisdom of telling Jim, and once more decided against it. Even if this was only a bond of deep friendship, he knew enough of Jim’s personality to know that he would treat it with the appropriate level of seriousness. Spock did not wish to be seen as an obligation, or an unwanted attachment. Jim had not sought this thing, and Spock would not inflict it upon him against his will. Their relationship was already, by one interpretation, that of T’hy’la, and he would look for no more.  

He would need to find another bondmate before seven years had passed, but that could be accomplished. He ignored the part of his mind that felt a stab of betrayal at the thought that any future bondmate would not be Jim. But it could not be Jim. Such was not their relationship, and Spock refused to endanger what was with a mere fantasy of what could be. T’sha’al had said his mind would accept another bond. And if it did not, there was always – Kolinahr.  

USS Enterprise, Transporter Room

Kirk watched as T’Rena guided her sister to the correct position on the transporter padd, then stationed herself on the adjacent circle of light. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Spock yet, but it appeared that all had gone well. Certainly, they had stayed even less time than Spock had expected, which was hopefully good news.  

He said, “It was an honour to welcome you to the Enterprise, Healer T’sha’al, T’Rena. We are very grateful for your visit.” 

T’Rena said, “It was our will to serve, Captain Kirk. Thank you for your hospitality, and the tour of your most impressive ship.” 

He said, pleased, “You would be welcome back any time.” 

In his mind, Spock felt a light brush against his consciousness. Goodbye, Spock. It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we may meet each other again. Live long, and prosper.

He sent back, confident that she would hear:  I too, T’sha’al. It has been an honour. Peace and long life

T’Rena’s eyes had slipped to McCoy. She said, a little self consciously, “Live long and prosper, Doc – Leonard.”  

He smiled back at her, entirely genuine and warm, and she felt her heart give a little skip. “Peace and long life, T’Rena.”  

James Kirk experienced the unfamiliar sensation – practically unique on his own ship - of being the subject of precisely no-one's attention.  

He said uncertainly to the transporter operator, “Er, thank you, Lieutenant.” 

The beam took them both, and as the last of the gold light faded, Kirk turned to McCoy. “That seemed to go well. Leonard.” 

McCoy drew himself up. "That young woman,” he said with dignity, “is an extraordinary xenobiological scientist.” 

From beside Jim, Spock said mildly, “That young woman, Doctor, is older than me.”  

McCoy blinked. “Well, my point stands. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a paper to complete.” 

He left the transporter room, and at an indication from Kirk, the transporter operator followed him. In the empty room, he looked to his first officer with concern. “Spock? How are you doing?” 

Spock turned to him, and for an odd moment, Kirk felt like his friend was seeing him for the first time. He said, suddenly anxious, “Spock?” 

Then he saw one of Spock’s almost smiles, and something inside him that he hadn’t even known was tense, began to relax. “I am well, Jim.” 

“The healing was successful, then?” 

“It was.” 

Kirk grinned at him in unabashed relief. “That’s great.” He touched a hand lightly to his friend’s arm. “That’s really great.” 

Spock said, suddenly earnest, “Jim, you have been a truly exceptional friend to me, over the last few weeks, I hope you know it is my intent to always be so to you.” 

Kirk’s grin became a smile of heartfelt affection. “God, Spock, it’s good to have you back. I’ve missed you.” 

Spock said, deadpan, “I have missed me too.” 

Kirk laughed in the delight of pure relief, then said, touching Spock’s arm again, “Come on, let’s get to the bridge.” 

As they left the transporter room, he added lightly, “So, chess tonight?” 

“Indeed. I believe the current score is rather flattering to you, Captain. It is past time that was put right.” 

Kirk grinned a challenge at him. “Do your worst, Mister Spock. Do your worst.” 

As they entered the turbolift, and the doors closed, Spock touched the control but did not voice their destination. Instead he said, "Jim. Would you be amenable to playing in my quarters tonight?"

Kirk blinked. "Of course." Curiously, he added, "Any particular reason?"

"I - have a gift for you."

Kirk smiled, pleased. "Really? What's the occasion?"

Spock looked embarrassed. "I - I missed your birthday."

Kirk frowned, and then his eyes widened slightly. "Oh wow. Yes. Huh. I missed my birthday too. I wondered why Bones gave me that bourbon last week. It did seem unusually generous." At the stricken, guilty look on Spock's face, he said slowly, "Right. What's the date on Earth?"

"Today? Fifth of April, twenty-two sixty-seven." Spock added. "In Iowa right now it is six thirty seven in the evening." 

Kirk stared. "Why do you know the time in Iowa?"

Spock looked a little embarrassed. "You mentioned to me that your mother still resides there. I anticipated that you might one day ask."

A slow grin spread across Kirk's face. He said, "Spock, I'm not a selfish man, but the chances are, when Starfleet offers you promotion, I'm going to scupper it." Before Spock could react he said, "Okay, as of now, and for the duration of this voyage, my birthday is on 5th April. It's a much better date, anyway. I never liked the twenty-second of March." 

Spock said, "Jim, that is not -"

Kirk held up a hand. "You know that thing I said about not being selfish? I lied. My birthday is going to be about me. Me, myself, and the wonderfulness of I. Not you, and any lingering guilt you might be feeling about anything that wasn't at all your fault that might have happened once on 22nd March, clear?"

Spock tried again. "Jim, -"

Kirk continued as if he hadn't spoken. "So, with it being my birthday, Mister Spock, here's what you're going to do. When we're done on the bridge, you're going to find Rand, and tell her I want a special birthday meal. Something from my old nutrition list, not the McCoy approved one. Then, you're going find Bones, and you're going to tell him, nice try, but I know where he keeps the good bourbon, and that wasn't it. When you're done, I'll meet you in your quarters and act appropriately surprised. Any questions?"

"No, Captain."

"Good man. Right, let's get to the bridge."

*

Intermittently, as he walked the bridge during the rest of their shift, Kirk would pass the science station and hum distractingly. On the second occasion, Spock recognised the tune. The traditional human melody, Happy Birthday.

On the fifth such occasion, Spock thought, This man is my T'hy'la.

The thought should not have brought a fierce spark of joy.

And yet, it did. 

*

Notes:

Thank you, thank you, thank you, for sticking with this so far! I know it's a long haul! If you've left kudos, or just sent me positive vibes, and particularly if you've commented (especially if you've commented more than once!!): THANK YOU!! You know who you are and it means such a lot. I think I've responded to everybody now, but if I haven't, leave another comment to let me know! :)

And we broke the 100k words barrier in this chapter, so go team!! I've never written this much of one story before! It's a bit of a thrill for me! Also, it's looking like twenty chapters may have been optimistic for the entire fic. Twenty chapters might just end up being the end of part one, taking us to *checks notes* five days after the end of the original five year mission.

I need to leave this for a little while now and focus on the less interesting RL work I've been neglecting (my muse is already sulking about that) so please say nice things in the comments to make me feel better! (And give my muse more ammunition to nag me into carrying on, lol!)

Okay, whilst I'm doing less fun things than writing this, quick poll:
What eps would you like to see covered before the end of the TOS section? I'm already looking at: Mirror Mirror, The Trouble with Tribbles, Journey to Babel, Bread and Circuses, Spectre of the Gun, Elaan of Troyius, The Paradise Syndrome, The Empath, and Turnabout Intruder, but if there are any others, please just shout.

Take care of yourself, stay safe, and I'll see you soon. Love, Lia xxxxx

Chapter 13: Through the Looking Glass

Summary:

Scenes set during Generations 

Scenes set during and after Mirror, Mirror  

Scene set after The Doomsday Machine  

Scenes set during and after the Trouble with Tribbles 

Notes:

I need to give a massive shout out and the biggest virtual hug to the amazing manekikat who was a fabulous beta for this chapter! All remaining mistakes are mine. I've never had a beta before and it was so, so helpful. Thank you, thank you, you wonderful person, you <3<3<3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rateg City, Romulus, 2371 

Spock closed the message from Toven with relief. The man had been remarkably efficient, and his shuttle to Vulcan would be available within a day. He had expected, given that he had asked for his own transport, and not to be smuggled aboard any kind of civilian ship, that Toven's contacts would take longer to arrange his departure. But apparently, simply supplying him with his own transport, and the correct idents to take him out of Romulan space, was an easier task. 

He suspected that might be because the shuttle in question was what a long ago acquaintance would have referred to as a garage scow, but it didn't matter. He only needed it for one journey, and he was an experienced pilot, if a little out of practice. 

He turned to his small room. All that remained now was to pack. There was some advantage, he reflected dryly, to the ascetic lifestyle he had adopted for the past few years. Packing would involve very little effort indeed. He had a grand total of one bag, and that would be partly empty. He crossed to his cot, reached underneath, and retrieved the item in question. It had long ago lost any claim to desirability as a travel item, being significantly worn and battered by the passage of time, but he had not seen any logic in replacing an item that retained its usefulness. 

He shook it out, and moved to the desk to add the few items he possessed. As his padd hit the bottom of the bag, there was a quiet clinking sound. He stopped. There was nothing in the bag to impact with the padd and cause such a sound. He reached in, moved the padd to one side, and his exploring hand closed on a small metal item. 

He lifted it into the light. It was a tiny replica tricorder. Not the grey, plain, functional ones used by Starfleet officers today, but the same style as  he himself had used on the original Enterprise. His heart gave a reluctant lurch. He remembered this item. He had thought it long lost. Moving automatically, he opened the replica front to the tricorder with his thumb. James Kirk's voice filled the room.

"Happy Birthday Spock. I'm sorry I can't be there today, but I'll be home tomorrow, I promise. In the meantime, I know its illogical to miss equipment, but I've seen the look you give those modern tricorders - "

Spock flicked the tricorder closed. Kirk's voice stopped. He took a deep breath. The anger he thought he had mastered yesterday returned. Am I to be haunted by this man? He turned the tricorder over in his hand, then tilted his palm, allowing the item to slip to the floor. He moved his foot over it, and exerted pressure until it was crushed beneath his boot.

He exhaled slowly, then returned to his packing. 

*

The Nexus. Stardate: unknown. Location: unknown.  
Location of ‘energy ribbon’ entry point: seven light years from Romulus, on a course for the Veridian system.  

Kirk whirled in place, taking in the room around him.  

No.  

No, this wasn’t right. He’d been – he’d been – somewhere else. With someone else. Someone – important. His – his – the word wouldn’t come.  

“Damn,” he muttered despairingly. “Damn, damn, dammit.” 

A voice behind him said gently, “Can I help you?”  

He turned again. He was in some kind of bar. Plain, basic decoration and tables. Behind the bar itself stood the owner of the voice. A woman of indeterminate age, dark eyes, dark skin, dark hair, and a deep purple robe. His eyes said human, but his instinct said – something else.  

“Hello, Captain.” 

She had a beautiful smile. He suspected, in other circumstances, he would have found her mere presence soothing. As it was, he frowned at her. “I – I know you, don’t I?”  

“In here? Outside of time? Yes. We’ve spoken before. Outside of here? In time?” She gave a slightly self-conscious shrug, and another flash of that smile. “I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know what goes on in time anymore.” 

“We’re outside of time?”  

“Yes.” 

“Where - Where is here?” 

“The Nexus.” 

He stared at her for a long moment.  

“I knew that.” 

She nodded. “You did.” 

“Why did I forget?” 

“You are proving - troublesome. The Nexus has had to resort to interfering with your memory.” 

Why? If I’m so troublesome why doesn’t it just let me go?” 

“Because letting you go now would not deliver your heart's desire. But the fact that you are here again, speaking to me, would seem to indicate your time is …. soon.”  

“I thought you said we were outside of time here.” 

“We are.” 

“Then why the hell am I still waiting?” 

“Because the way out is not outside of time. And we are waiting for someone. Someone who needs your help.” 

“There is someone. Someone I keep forgetting. I’m sure –“ 

She shook her head. “No. He is too far. His path does not lie here. There is someone closer.” 

“Who?” 

“I think – a friend. I will send him to you, when he arrives.” 

The air around her began to fade.  

Kirk said quickly, “You’re fading. What’s going on?” 

She gave him a sad sort of smile. “You are forgetting me again. Our conversations distress you. Farewell, Captain. May you see your heart’s desire. All my hopes go with you.” 

Kirk looked around him in confusion. A lush green landscape stretched as far as the eye could see. It looked familiar, but this – wasn't right. He’d been somewhere else, he’d been talking to – He'd been with -   

There had definitely  been someone – he’d been close this time, this was important, this was - 

There was a whinny from his immediate left and a warm weight nuzzled his shoulder. He turned to see a gorgeous bay, saddled, bridled, and clearly impatient to be off.   

He raised a hand automatically and stroked her muzzle absently. “Hey girl.” He was still looking around. He had the very distinct feeling that he’d just forgotten something. Something very important. He just needed a moment to -   

There was a thunder of hooves to his right. Another bay pulled up abruptly, frightening Kirk’s horse, and she made to pull away. He grabbed the rein and stroked her neck, whispering reassurance. He heard a woman’s gasped apology. “I’m so sorry, he just got away from me there.”   

He turned, and squinted at the rider. Was this who he’d been looking for? There was something familiar - memory dawned, and he said with a smile, “ Antonia ?” 

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 5263.03 (Terran Calendar: 24th April 2267) Ship’s time: 11.45  

Spock waited for the doors to the Captain’s quarters to close before standing in front of them and regarding James Kirk evenly. Ever since returning from the planet, the Captain had been aggressive, hostile, violent and as unlike himself as Spock had known since the Tantalus colony. So he had asked to speak to the Captain alone. Uhura, Scotty, and McCoy remained in the transporter room under the watchful eye of Commander Darren, the Enterprise’s bullish security chief. 

His Captain had strode into the room with confidence but was now staring around him in displeased shock.  

Then, to Spock’s surprise, he threw off his uniform tunic and rounded on the Vulcan with a look of irritation. “Come on then, I haven’t got all day. And this had better be good.”  

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Captain?”  

“Don’t play dumb with me. What have you done to the ship, you traitorous half breed bastard?” He was pacing around his quarters, staring into every corner like he was looking for a threat. “And I thought you said this would wear off?”  

“Captain?” 

“The pon fever – thing. My tolerance only extends so far.” He rounded again on Spock. “The only reason you’re not in a booth already is because you’re a damn good fuck and a passable first officer,” he ended his prowl in front of the Vulcan and shoved a finger in his face, “but don’t push me.”  

Spock was aware he was staring at his Captain. His brain seemed to be struggling to parse Kirk’s last sentence. One thing, however, was abundantly clear. “As per our previous agreement, I request that you meld with me before we return to the bridge.” 

It was Kirk’s turn to stare. “What the hell is the matter with you? How many times do we have to have this conversation? You can have this-“ he gestured to himself, “but this-“ he jabbed at his head. “- is mine, you understand? You’re not getting any of your Vulcan voodoo up in here, I thought I made that clear?” He turned, began to pace again, eyeing a point on the wall over his desk.  

Spock stared. “My Vulcan-“ he stopped, “Captain, to what do you refer?”  

Kirk turned back to him, aggression in every line of his movement. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here - what you’ve done with the ship, with the crew, or even your damn beard.” He came right into Spock’s personal space, so close that Spock could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke. “But I’ll figure it out, and when I do, you’d better hope I like it.” 

He took a breath, said evenly, “Captain, if you refuse the mind touch, I will be forced to assume that you have been replaced by a double and act accordingly.”  

Kirk laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “That desperate, are you? Alright, Spock.” He leaned back slightly with the air of a man who had the upper hand, and knew it. “Fucking first, then an explanation. I suppose I can trust you for now.” He sauntered away from Spock, towards the desk, stripping off his t-shirt as he did so. Spock was forced to notice, once again, that his captain was possessed of an attractive physique. He blinked, to dismiss the thought. Kirk leant back against the desk. “Come here then, I don’t have all day.” 

Spock took a steadying breath. Inferring from context, he was clearly expected to engage in some kind of sexual encounter with this barbaric and unstable version of James Kirk. He wondered, for the briefest of moments, exactly what the alternate version of himself Kirk was expecting would do in this situation, then dismissed the thought as entirely too distracting.  

He said slowly, “As you wish.” He crossed to his Captain, raised a hand to his face, and trailed his fingers gently from the top of his cheek to his jawline. Kirk gripped him by the hip and pulled him closer. In the moment before their bodies connected, Spock lowered his hand further and nerve pinched him in the neck. He caught him before he hit the floor, and lowered him to the deck.  

He stared for a moment at the unconscious man, regulating his pulse and breathing. Then he stepped across him to the desk, and called security.  

By the time the guards arrived, Kirk was still unconscious, but Spock had managed to redress him in his uniform tunic. He had been finding the sight of a semi-nude, unconscious Kirk lying at his feet to be – uncomfortable. And it would not do, even for a crew as loyal as that of the Enterprise, for the security team to wonder why the Captain was alone with his first officer whilst half naked. They might leap to what was, apparently, the correct conclusion regarding the relationship between  this  version of James Kirk and his first officer.  

As the security detail hauled him up, Kirk began to regain consciousness, and curse them. Spock explained briefly that this was a double of the captain, an assertion they seemed to have no trouble believing, although the choice language and threats their captain was currently using probably played as large a part in their quick acceptance as Spock’s assertion of the fact. 

By the time they passed the transporter room, Uhura, Scott, and McCoy were also being escorted by Darren and his men. Darren himself was sporting a fresh cut on his face. Spock nodded at it, and Darren inclined a slightly sheepish head towards a furious-looking Uhura. Spock raised an eyebrow in return.   

As the force shield across the holding cell shimmered into place, Kirk ran at it, stopping just in time. Uhura, McCoy, and Scotty gathered as far away from their angry captain as they could in the small space. Spock didn’t blame them, given the man’s capacity for aggression. Kirk stopped millimetres short of the energy pulsing across the front of the cell and addressed his first officer. “Spock. What is it that will buy you? Power?” 

Spock stared. It was uncanny. This man had James Kirk’s physical form. His face. His voice. But it was like watching a dangerous alien lifeform inhabit his friend’s skin. He had known in the transporter room, almost before he spoke, that this was – somehow - not his captain, and events had proved him right. Not least Kirk’s first action of jumping off the transporter padd and punching the unsuspecting operator in the face, whilst cursing his competence, an action which had shocked no-one in the landing party at all.  

He looked back at Kirk and murmured, “Fascinating.”  

He experienced a moment of trepidation that these mockeries of his friends were accurate representations of their universe, and squashed a stab of fear for his true captain. Jim was highly intelligent and resourceful. He would find a way home.  

Suddenly, he couldn’t bear to look at this distorted facsimile any longer. He turned away from the force field.  

Kirk called after him, “Power, Spock? I can get that for you.” 

Then, as the doors closed behind him, he heard, pitched to carry only to Vulcan ears, “T’hy’la .” 

It was a mangled, barbaric pronunciation, but it was close enough. Spock froze. Turned. Took a reluctant step back into the room. The other Kirk was staring at him through the force shield, eyes intense, a small, triumphant smile on his lips. He continued, in that same low tone, “Is that what you want, Spock? That – that – bond ? What if I said you could? What if you could have all of me?” 

Spock felt an unexpected and visceral wave of anger course through him. He covered the distance to the barrier in a few quick steps, lowered his voice, and hissed, barely keeping the fury from his tone. “You are not that to me.” 

Something in his voice must have communicated, because Kirk fell back from the barrier, regarding him through narrowed eyes.  

He turned quickly and left. This time, no voice followed him.  

Mirror USS Enterprise, same day  

James Kirk stood in his quarters, close to the desk, listening to Spock monologue about the illogic of the Halkan’s stance, and trying to look comfortable. At home. And not to stare around. They were his quarters. They were, in many respects, identical. But like the rest of this ship and crew, they were just wrong enough to make the hair at the back of his neck stand up, and feed a constant, low level, anxiety that grated on his nerves. Everywhere he looked brought a reminder that this was not his Enterprise, and nothing more so than the man in front of him right now.  

The bearded, dangerous, Spock facsimile had finished speaking and was eyeing him closely. “Captain, you seem – as you humans say – not yourself. On edge.”  

Kirk set his jaw. The main thing that had him on edge right now was how to get rid of this disturbing copy so he could investigate this alternate ship more closely, but Spock didn’t seem inclined to leave him alone, even sending his guards outside so they could talk unobserved. On the one hand, that was good, as it implied at least a basic level of trust between captain and first officer, that Kirk could hopefully use. On the other hand, he was alone with a version of Spock he neither knew nor trusted. And he didn’t want to risk trusting  anyone  here, not even Spock.  

The man in question had drawn uncomfortably close. On his own ship, Kirk would have given way, allowing his first officer whatever space he wanted. But this was not his ship. This was a harsh, brutal inversion of his Enterprise, and he couldn’t afford to show weakness, especially not to this man.  

He said, neutrally, but with an undercurrent of threat, “What’s your point, Mister Spock?” 

An eyebrow rose, the look so familiar, that even over the stress and strangeness of the situation, it was a fine needle to Kirk’s heart. Spock said, quietly, still too close, “I was merely wondering if there was something I could do – to help you relax?” 

Kirk stared. If this had been anyone else, anyone else at all, that sentence would have sounded laden  with subtext. As it was, his mind was clearly working overtime with its analysis of the situation, and the status of the relationship between this Spock and his Captain, and had come up with a totally erroneous conclusion. He said firmly, “I can handle it, Mister Spock, thank you.” 

And  that  was almost a smile. Spock said, “I’m sure you can, Captain, but these things are often easier with – help.” He raised a hand, and it took every ounce of discipline in Kirk not to flinch away, but the hand merely outlined a pointedly gentle path along Kirk’s jaw.  

Kirk’s eyes widened at the touch. He’d been expecting – aggression, maybe even violence, but this was – something very different. As he stood frozen, searching for an appropriate response, Spock’s hand continued its exploration by tracing down his arm, still with that disconcerting gentleness. Kirk knew first-hand the strength behind that deceptive touch and the thought uppermost in his mind was how to handle this situation to avoid turning it against him.  

Until Spock’s hand reached his own, and intertwined their fingers. This had gone far enough. He said firmly, although it lacked some of the authority he’d intended his voice to have, “Spock  –“ 

The Vulcan paid him no heed, using their intertwined fingers to raise Kirk’s hand within his own. After a moment’s resistance, Kirk allowed himself to be moved. There was still a large part of his brain insisting that this couldn’t possibly be going where experience told him it almost definitely was. Not with Spock. But whatever was happening, he wanted to try end it quickly without antagonising the man before him.  

He drew breath to try again, then Spock finished his movement by entwining Kirk’s fingers through his own dark hair. The words died in Kirk's throat, as the only thought his suddenly traitorous brain would supply was how unexpectedly soft and smooth Spock’s hair was. Like strands of silk between his fingers.  

Spock must have seen the change in his thoughts, because that almost smile came again, and in one smooth movement, Spock dropped to his knees and pressed his face to Kirk’s groin. There was heated breath, and pressure, and Kirk was torn between a sensation of near panic and a jolt of arousal so unexpected it stole his breath. He gasped out, “Spock. Stop .”  

Spock looked up in surprise.  

Kirk managed, ”I – I don’t think we have time for –“  

Before he could finish, the door chime sounded, and he almost shouted, “Yes! Come in.” 

Spock stood rapidly, throwing him a disapproving glare, just before the door opened to reveal McCoy. 

Kirk said quickly, “Come in, Doctor. I, er, I wanted to speak to you about the Halkans. Urgently.” 

McCoy did as instructed, giving Spock a wide berth. The Vulcan stared at him with open hostility.  

Kirk said, “Thank you, Mister Spock.” 

For a heart stopping moment he thought Spock wasn’t going to take the hint. But then he murmured, “Captain”, still staring daggers at McCoy, and left.  

The door closed behind him and Kirk reached out a hand to McCoy’s shoulder, steadying himself under his friend’s concerned gaze. 

McCoy said, “Jim, you’re the colour of beets. Are you okay? What the hell just happened?”   

Kirk took a deep breath. “Bones, never, ever let anyone tell you your timing isn’t  excellent.” 

USS Enterprise, same day, ship’s time: 20:25  

James Kirk walked down the corridor, heading for his quarters, first officer at his side. He’d made a joke about it on the bridge, but the sight of a clean-shaven Spock in front of him as he materialised had brought on a feeling of relief so profound, he’d had to stop himself jumping off the pad and hugging him on the spot.  

As they entered his quarters, he said, “I know I said it before, but good job on spotting the imposters so quickly. I hate to think of that man in charge of my ship.” He stopped in front of his desk and turned to face his friend.  

Spock had halted in front of him. “It was not challenging, Captain. The alternate you was hostile and aggressive from the moment he appeared. After the problems with the transporter, it was not a difficult assumption to make. And he refused the mind touch.”  

Kirk looked pleased. “Did he? Well, I don’t want to say I told you so, Mister Spock, but I knew that meld would come in useful.” 

There was a pause before Spock replied evenly, “Indeed, Captain.” He hesitated, then added, “My alternate self did not suggest it to you?”  

“No, he didn’t. Thank goodness. He'd have rumbled us pretty fast if he had. Still, like you said, we had the easier job, pretending to be them.” Kirk stopped. Took a breath. “The, er, the other me, he wasn’t - aggressive to you, was he?”  

“No, he – “ Spock paused, then finished carefully. “He – was not.”  

“Oh good. That’s good.” It occurred to Jim, all at once, that they were standing in the exact positions he and the alternate Spock had been standing in when – he moved hastily to sit behind the desk. Before he could stop it, the memory of Spock’s hair sliding between his fingers returned to him, and he cleared his throat to banish the thought before saying quickly, “Well. I should -” 

Spock said, abruptly, “The alternate version of myself did not – he was not aggressive? To you.” 

Kirk shook his head. “No. He was -” He stopped, cleared his throat again. “They actually, er, seemed to get along. Somewhat. By the standards of that universe at least.”  

“That was my impression also." Spock paused, then, “However, I find this universe – infinitely preferable.”  

Kirk shot him a fervent smile of agreement. “You and me both, Mister Spock, you and me both. Although,” he added mischievously, “I might  be able to get used to that goatee.”  

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Most illogical.”  

“Though if you do ever decide to grow one, warn me. I don’t want to return from leave or something and find you on the bridge looking like a pirate. I’d probably have you thrown in the brig.”  

Spock looked quietly amused.  

Partly out of genuine curiosity, and partly to move the conversation away from alternate Spock and any reminder of the feel of his hair, Kirk said, “Did you think - “ he hesitated, then added, “probably my imagination, but did Bones seem a little – quiet to you?” 

Spock said slowly, “The doctor seemed – as verbose as usual.” 

Kirk nodded. “Probably my imagination.” He added with a smile, “He’s fond of you, though, in any universe.” 

“I find that an unlikely assertion, Captain.” Spock’s eyebrows had climbed almost to his hairline.  

“If you say so, Mister Spock, but he nearly missed our beam out trying to save pirate you.” 

“The doctor frequently allows sentiment to override common sense.” Spock’s tone was more thoughtful than censorious.  

Kirk smiled to himself, and added, “Got no thanks for it, alternate you still dragged him to the transporter room with a knife to his throat.” 

Spock stared. He had not deemed it worthy to mention to Jim, as he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined it, but the doctor had done one slightly strange thing on the bridge. As McCoy had moved to the turbolift to return to sickbay, Spock had been crossing the higher level of the bridge to check the engineering station. There was no danger of their colliding, but on turning and finding him so unexpectedly close, McCoy had – flinched. It was such a small movement that Spock had almost convinced himself he’d imagined it. Now, he wondered.  

Kirk was saying, “I’m looking forward to reading the reports of the rest of the landing party on this one. They’ll be – interesting. I don’t like to think what command will make of it.” He pulled a face then added, “But they must be getting used to reports like that from us by now.” He looked at his first officer, and tilted his head. “Spock? You with me?” 

Spock visibly roused himself. “Yes, Captain. I will also be - interested to view the reports.” 

Leonard McCoy sat back in his desk chair, and poured himself a third drink. He had a feeling it would take more than three before sleep came easy tonight.  

The entry chime sounded, and he stared at the door in irritation. Not a medical emergency, or sickbay would comm him.  

He waited. Not Jim, or he’d have called out, or just let himself in by now.  

The chime came again. McCoy sighed. Sipped his drink. Waited some more.  

The chime came a third time.  

McCoy groaned. “Yeah, alright, come in.” 

The door slid aside and the Enterprise's first officer - blessedly, blessedly clean shaven - took a few uncertain paces into the room, before eyeing McCoy evenly. “Good evening, Doctor. I apologise for the intrusion into your off-duty time.” 

McCoy said testily, “As you should, since you weren’t taking no for an answer, and you look healthy enough to me.”  

On Spock’s face, he sighed, and waved towards the other chair. “Well, sit down then, as you’re here.” 

Spock said, stiffly, still standing, “What I have to say will not take long.” 

McCoy stared up at him in irritation. “I don’t care. You're looming over me like the ghost of Christmas past. You wanna chat, you sit your ass in the chair, Spock.” 

The Vulcan’s face tightened almost infinitesimally, but he did as instructed.  

McCoy said, softening his tone somewhat, “I know I can’t interest you in any alcohol, but I’ve got some mixers if you want. Fruit juice, that kind of thing.” 

“That will not be necessary.”  

“Suit yourself.” 

“But thank you.” 

“Anytime.” McCoy was belatedly surprised by how sincere that sounded. When had he started to not simply tolerate Spock’s company? Before he could follow that thought any further, Spock said, abruptly, apropos apparently nothing, “I am not responsible for the actions of my counterpart in the alternate universe.” 

McCoy stared. “I know that.” He added, “Same goes for me, and whatever that torture chamber owning bastard who looked like me did when he was over here.”  

“He was not given the opportunity to do anything. The entire landing party were confined after beam in.” 

McCoy nodded. He said, with vehement satisfaction, “Good.”  

He sipped his drink in the ensuing silence, before Spock said, carefully, “However, -” then stopped.  

McCoy grimaced. “Urgh, I don’t like however. ‘However’ is never good.”  

There was a silence. He waved his drink at the man opposite him. “Come on, Spock, spit it out, I’d like to sleep at some point tonight.” 

“I have read the reports of all members of the landing party on the events that took place in that alternate reality.’ 

“Good for you. Fascinating read, was it? Shame there’s no pictures.” McCoy downed half of his glass.  

Spock continued, “I wished to – seek further elucidation regarding one incident referred to in your report.” 

“Did you now.” McCoy's voice was dry. 

“I believe it contains - an unlikely assertion.” 

There was a silence. Then McCoy said, still in that same even tone, “So you've interrupted my off-duty time to keep me from my sleep  and  call me a liar? That’s a gutsy play for a man with a physical coming up.”  

Spock said evenly, “I am not questioning the truthfulness of your account. Merely it’s detail.”  

He added, “It is interesting. I have noticed that you frequently refer to your own professionalism in disparaging terms. You employ language to members of the crew implying that should they deviate from your wishes; their future treatment will be less than professional. It is never the case.  

“You regularly imply also that your skills are lesser than they are: 'simple country doctor' being a term I have heard you employ on seven separate occasions. That is a highly inaccurate assertion, since your performance as CMO of this ship has been exemplary from the day of your arrival. You are, quite rightly, highly regarded by the Captain, and the entire crew, a large number of whom, myself included, owe their continued existence to your presence on this ship. 

“That being said, if you wished to assign my physical next week to Doctor M’Benga, I would raise no objection.”  

McCoy said thickly, “ Spock . Just - shut up.” 

The Vulcan fell silent.  

After another moment, McCoy said, wearily, “Come on then. What’s your problem with the report?”  

“It states that you volunteered information to my counterpart regarding the true identities of the landing party, and their location at that moment.” 

McCoy’s voice was as dry and featureless as the Arizona desert. “And?” 

“You would not have volunteered that information. You are not a coward, nor are you easily intimidated. Even by someone stronger than you, in a state of – emotional unbalance. When you returned to the ship, you were physically unharmed. Therefore, he gained his certainty as to the landing parties' objective another way.” 

“Spock - “ McCoy’s drink hit the table with a snap.  

The Vulcan held up a hand. “Please, Doctor, allow me to say this. I belong to a race of telepaths. As such, there is a code of behavioural ethics drilled into us from childhood. These are not laws. They do not need to be. No Vulcan would touch the mind of another uninvited, for nefarious purpose, without risking the censure of our entire race. It is not done. And to do it to a non-telepath is –” he took a breath. “It is a violation. And – on behalf of my race – I am truly sorry it was done to you.” 

McCoy had folded his arms as Spock began speaking. After a moment, he unfolded them, and reached again for his drink. The hand he extended was unsteady, and he dropped it back into his lap. Silence fell.  

After a moment, Spock said, hesitantly, carefully, “Have you – suffered any ill-effects?” 

McCoy took a breath. Then another. “Had a headache for a day. Gone now.” His voice was gruff. “I scanned myself though. Everything normal up there. Just – stress, probably.” 

“Have you considered - “ 

“No. Whatever the end of that sentence was going to be – no.” He met the Vulcan’s troubled gaze. “Spock, I appreciate what you're trying to do here. I really do. But you were right. It’s not your responsibility. And I’m fine. It wasn’t - I mean, it’s not like – it didn’t take long. As you said. Non telepath. Not much resistance.”  

Spock noticeably paled. “That is not -”  

“I’m fine, Spock. I am. It was a shock, more than anything else. Not used to – anyone else messing around up there.”  

“Nevertheless -” 

“Spock. Relax. For God’s sake. You look like you’re about to pass out. Don’t make me get my med kit out, I’m not sober enough for that. Look, are you - sure I can’t interest you in this?” He raised his glass. 

As Spock opened his mouth to respond, McCoy said, “Yeah, alright, I know. No alcohol. I know. Look, you’ve said your piece. I – appreciate it. So – thanks. I’m good. We’re – we’re fine here.” The words were an obvious dismissal.  

There was a long, awkward silence. Spock didn’t move. Then he said, carefully, “Is that – the good stuff?” 

McCoy blinked. “Sorry, what?” 

“The Captain has implied, on more than one occasion, that you have two distinct sources of bourbon on board. One that is – standard, and one that is - as he terms it – the good stuff.” 

McCoy stared. “Oh, has he? Well. Well, you tell Captain Loose Lips from me that he’d better not spread that around if he wants to ever see the good stuff again. And no, it isn’t. Which you’d know, if you drank. Let this be your first lesson, Mister Spock. Alcohol one-oh-one: never use the good stuff to get yourself drunk. You’ll waste it.”  

“I see.” Spock considered this for a moment. “That is – actually quite logical. In its way.” 

McCoy almost smiled. “Oh, there’s more where that came from. The unwritten rules of alcohol consumption are many and varied.” 

“I have no doubt. So you maintain, if I wished to appreciate the finer qualities of the beverage in question, and not become inebriated, that I would require - the good stuff?“ 

“You would indeed.”  

Spock’s gaze travelled slowly from the glass in front of McCoy, to the doctor’s face. An expectant eyebrow quirked.  

McCoy’s almost smile became a slow grin, and he rose, pointing at the Enterprise’s first officer. “Sit there, Spock.” He clapped his hands together like a magician about to perform a trick. “And prepare to have your sensory horizons expanded.”  

Two decks away, James Kirk threw himself on his bed, and hoped sleep wouldn’t take too long to come. He’d agreed to observe some security drills before his shift with Commander Darren, so his rest was going to be truncated as it was. He shifted himself to get comfortable, and closed his eyes. Half an hour, and a great deal of fidgeting later, he opened them again, staring at the ceiling in irritation.  

He had a fairly standard nightly routine, when ship’s business allowed, and usually sleep came fast. Not tonight, apparently. It wasn’t helping that his mind seemed determined to remind him of the one thing he didn’t want to examine in any detail whatsoever. He was sorry, in a way, he’d never got to meet his alternate self. It would have given him no small measure of satisfaction to punch the vicious, exploitative bastard right in the face.  

The only meagre consolation he could draw from his alternate’s sexual exploitation of at least two of his crew was that it hadn’t seemed – at least overtly - forced. Both Marla and – god help him, but he wasn’t getting over this any time soon – Spock had been the instigators in their encounters.  

There was some relief in that, at least. The mere idea that any version of himself – or anyone at all, in fact – could coerce sexual favours out of Spock was nauseating. He turned away from that thought in abhorrence. Which, thanks to his still obsessed brain, led him immediately back to the thought he’d been avoiding since it happened – his own reaction. 

On one hand, he’d reacted pretty much the way he always hoped he’d react to a member of his crew throwing themselves at him with overt sexual intent: with shock, disapproval, yet enough professionalism not to overreact and make a bad situation worse. On the other hand, there’d been a not insignificant part of him that had been almost enthusiastic about the turn his day had taken. And that was not only unsettling, but inappropriate as all hell. He just – didn’t think of Spock that way. At all.  Ever.  

Almost never.  

And Spock belonged to a people who experienced a sexual drive only once every seven years, so he clearly wasn’t thinking of anyone in that way, so – his train of thought came to an abrupt halt. If Spock only experienced that particular drive once every seven years, what had alternate Spock been doing, initiating a sexual encounter with his captain?  

It had been – he calculated quickly – one standard month since Vulcan. Spock had indicated he was entirely recovered, and – certainly since the visit of the Vulcan healer – Kirk believed him. If anything, his first officer had seemed more relaxed since, as if some things that had been bothering him had been laid to rest. But his alternate self didn’t seem the type to run around the galaxy at the behest of his first officer, whatever the provocation. Yet alternate Spock was alive. So how had he weathered the pon farr? An obvious answer suggested itself.  

Kirk swung himself out of bed, walked to the desk, poured himself a drink, downed it, and breathed steadily until the urge to turn the ship around, find a way back to that other universe, and pummel his alternate self to within an inch of his life had subsided.  

He deliberately turned his thoughts to his own Spock. His report on the behaviour of their alternate selves had been, in common with Spock’s reports generally, baldly factual, and, no doubt, entirely accurate. Although, in some areas it had also been – very much not in common with Spock’s reports generally – lacking in detail. The main example which interested Jim was his plain statement that during their private conversation his double had 'demonstrated a command style and personality traits inconsistent with those of Captain Kirk”. And didn’t that cover a range of possibilities. Not many of them good.  

Spock hadn’t seemed disturbed by the encounter, and he prided himself that he could read his own first officer pretty well by now, but he still wanted to ask for more detail. Just to be sure. But that would open the door to the other side of that conversation – his own experiences with Spock’s double. And he just wasn’t ready for casual chat on that score. So, at least for now, his curiosity would have to remain unsatisfied. 

He set down his glass and returned to the bed. Eventually, sleep claimed him.  

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 5417.7 (Terran calendar: 15th  May 2267) Ship’s time: 22:15  

“Mister Spock, I'm officially notifying you that I'm exercising my option under regulations as a Starfleet Commodore, and that I am assuming command of the Enterprise.” 
 
“You have the right to do so, but I would advise against it.” 
 
“That thing must be destroyed.” 
 
“You tried to destroy it once before, Commodore. The result was a wrecked ship and a dead crew.” 
 
“I made a mistake then. We were too far away. This time I'm going to hit it with full phasers at point-blank range.” 
 
“Sensors show the object's hull is solid neutronium. A single ship cannot combat it.” 
 
“Mister Spock, that will be all. You have been relieved of command. Don't force me to relieve you of duty as well.” 

Kirk leaned forward, and with one swift, volatile motion of his thumb, flicked off the screen on his desk. The image of the bridge faded away, along with the voices of Decker and Spock. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “Damn. Damn.” He shook his head. “He was a good man. A fine officer.”  

He looked at his first officer, seated on the other side of the desk. Spock said quietly, “I grieve with thee.” 

“Losing his entire crew – I can’t even - “ he broke off, inhaled again. “You were right though: fighting him every inch of the way. The next time someone from the brass starts issuing crazy orders when I’m not around, you have my permission – no, you have my standing orders  – to use that Vulcan neck grab and take command.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “I am not sure that defence would stand up at my inevitable court martial.”  

Kirk gave him a half smile. “Maybe not.” There was a silence.  

Spock became aware that Kirk was merely looking at him, a small smile still playing on his lips. After a moment, he said, uncertainly, “Captain?” 

“You shouldn’t have followed my order, you know. Even in those circumstances, he outranked me. He had every right to take command. By any measure, you would have been correct to ignore me, and follow his orders. It was – the logical thing to do.” Kirk was still smiling. “But, d’you know something?” Spock looked at him curiously. “I knew you wouldn’t. I didn’t have a moment’s doubt that you’d take command as soon as I asked.”  

Spock said carefully, “The Commodore was demonstrating mental instability incompatible with command of a starship.” 

“And if he hadn’t been?” 

“Captain?” 

“Out of interest. If he’d been entirely stable up to that point, and I’d called the ship and told you to assume command. Would you have done?” 

Spock considered for a moment. Then said decisively, “Yes. You would not ask me to defy orders without a cogent rationale. Therefore, even if I was unaware of that rationale, the logical action would still be to follow your orders.”  

Kirk gave a soft laugh. “I thought you’d say that.”  

Still smiling, he met his first officer’s gaze. After a moment, he said, “Sometimes I think - “ He broke off, and looked away, before continuing quietly. “We’re doing something special out here. Oh, I know how that sounds – and I'm not blowing my own trumpet, because it isn’t just me. It’s you. It’s Bones. It’s Scotty. It’s the crew. It’s - this ship. It works, somehow, in a way I just – never expected it would. I dreamed about commanding my own ship, but I thought it would be more, I don’t know, mundane, somehow. Harder. Lonelier. Less like – family. I didn’t think it would be like this. I didn’t expect – you.  

“Command have been – making noises. Keep going like this, Jim, you might end up the youngest Admiral in the fleet, that kind of thing.” He shook his head ruefully. “I can’t find enough ways to say thanks, but no thanks. And I can’t seem to get them to understand – It isn’t me. Not just me.” He looked again at Spock. “I keep thinking, without you, I’d be – a good captain. I would. I know where my strengths lie. I’ve worked all my life for this.  

“But you – make me great. You let me fly. I can take risks, push the boundaries, make the tough decisions, because I know you’ve got my back. Always. No matter what. I know I’ve said it before, and it seems inadequate, but – thank you.”  

He took a breath in the ensuing silence. “But, having said all that, I also wanted to say – I think you’re ready. Your own command. And if you want me to put a word in at headquarters, I will.  My stock is pretty high right now, and the Lexington is coming up. Borrington’s retiring. It’s a good ship. Strong scientific remit. She’d suit you.” 

He gave a rueful grin. “I think it’s pretty clear I don’t want you lose you as my first officer, but you’re also my friend. And I’d be no kind of friend to you if I didn’t think about your career as well.” 

He took another breath. ‘Anyway, think about it. Let me know your decision.” 

Spock listened as Kirk spoke. I didn’t expect – you.  It was such an accurate summation of his own position that he felt emotion seize his throat.  I also did not expect you. Jim. T'hy’la .   

Kirk had started speaking again. He felt a rush of relief at his outright rejection of the notion of becoming an Admiral. A promotion would take him away from the Enterprise, and such a thing was unthinkable.  

You – make me great. He blinked in surprise. That was untrue, his Captain was - Spock became aware of a strange sensation. As Jim spoke, in that quiet, intense way he sometimes did when in the grip of strong emotion, Spock felt as if he could  feel  what Jim was feeling. That the words Jim spoke could have been lifted entirely from his own mind. So strong was the sensation that for a moment he withdrew a portion of his attention into his own mind, seeking to suppress and compartmentalise the feeling for later meditation. As he did so, gold light flickered through his inner awareness like fireflies at dusk.  

The memory of their meld on Vulcan came back to him. The gold thread that had seemed almost overwhelming in it’s intensity then - was still there. It was lesser, now, but still unmistakably, present. The t’hy’la bond. Still incomplete, it should, as Spock understood such things, be – dormant. Inactive. But it was not. It seemed to be responding to Jim. To his words, his emotion, to the fact that his attention, his presence, was focussed on Spock. 

He became a aware that Kirk had stopped speaking, and the room had fallen silent.  

Sensible that a response was required, after a moment, he said, “Jim I – “ that odd constriction was still in his throat. He swallowed, began again. “Jim. I believe you do yourself a disservice, and give myself too much credit. You are an exceptional Captain and would be so on any ship in the fleet. However, you are correct in one particular – we have formed a remarkably efficacious and efficient command team. As such, it would be – highly illogical – to sacrifice such an achievement on the altar of personal ambition, even if I harboured such ambition, which, I should be clear, I do not.” 

Kirk’s smile had widened. He was now gazing at Spock with what was, even by human standards, compelling and open affection. Spock felt as if a small, neglected part of his mind was glowing. Was this what a bond felt like? He had never experienced such a thing with T’Pring. It was – almost disturbing. And should not be possible. The bond that T’Sha’al had spoken of, the one that sought his t’hy’la, was incomplete. How was he then able to feel this – closeness – with Jim? Was this the nature of bonds in general, or just the t’hy’la bond in particular?  

Jim was saying, with fond amusement, “Ah yes. Staying here is the logical choice. Right. I should have seen that. It’s a good thing I’ve got you here to keep me straight on such things.” 

Spock looked across the desk at his captain. His friend. His t’hy’la. Feeling strangely daring, as the ship’s night stretched around them, and that gold glow warmed a neglected corner of his mind, he allowed some of his affection for this man to creep into his expression, to show behind his eyes. He saw the moment Kirk intuited the change, and watched with pleasure as his Captain’s expression softened in turn. The air felt strangely charged, as if the dormant bond was somehow a living thing, drawing them towards an end that was somehow inevitable and yet entirely unknown.  

The squeal of the intercom made them both flinch in surprise. The voice of the Lieutenant currently stationed at communications cut the silence. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”  

Kirk sat forward quickly, all relaxed gentleness fallen away, thumbed the comm switch, and snapped, “Kirk here.” 

“Sir, I’ve got Admiral Dawson for you.” 

Kirk nodded, as if the name wasn’t wholly unexpected. “Route it down here, Lieutenant.” He broke the comm link then looked to Spock with a grimace. “A friend of Matt’s.” He gestured apologetically to the screen. “I should -” 

Sensitive to the implied dismissal, Spock stood. “I will leave you to your call, Captain.” 

“Thanks, Spock.” 

“Goodnight. Jim.” 

Kirk’s eyes were already on the screen as it lit up and he murmured, “G’night Spock.”  

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 5544.81 (Terran calendar: 2nd June 2267)  

James Kirk entered the transporter room, currently occupied by Spock, Scotty, and a cacophony of the purring, cooing noise, that, in spite of its soothing properties, he’d be very happy not to hear again for the duration of this voyage. Or ideally, the rest of his life. The fluffy, innocuous looking pile of tribbles on the transporter padd seemed to grow threateningly larger as he watched. He turned quickly to Scotty, behind the transporter console. “Is that all of them?” 

Scotty nodded. “Aye. Security are finishing up their final sweep of the ship now sir, but they’re pretty sure they’ve got the lot.” 

“Good. Prepare to beam them down, Mister Scott.” 

He glanced across to his first officer, about to make a further comment, but the words died on his lips. Spock was also observing the pile of tribbles, but unlike the other two men in the room, was holding one as well. His long, skilled fingers stroked gently, repetitively across the back of the small creature in his hand, smoothing its fur and causing a rapturous, contented purr. Spock himself seemed almost unaware of the motion of his hand as he observed the other tribbles with what was – very nearly – a small smile on his face.  

Kirk looked from Spock to Scotty, who had followed his gaze. Scotty said, making an unsuccessful attempt to hide his smile, “About ten minutes, sir.” 

Kirk looked back to Spock, and cleared his throat. There was no response.  

Kirk said, “Spock.” The Vulcan continued to stroke and stare contentedly. There was an amused huff from behind the transporter console. 

Kirk took a few quiet steps forward, until he was level with, and slightly behind his first officer. He raised his head until his lips were within inches of Spock’s ear, and then said, in a tone slightly louder than his normal speaking voice, “Spock.” 

The Vulcan actually jumped. Kirk smothered his smile and Scotty cut off a laugh by diverting it quickly into a throat clearing cough. Spock looked at Kirk as if he’d contrived to materialise at his side without any warning at all, and said in obvious surprise, “Captain.”  

Kirk said, straight faced, “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you both, but I was wondering if you could see your way clear to returning your friend there,” he nodded to the tribble, nestled comfortably in Spock’s hands, “to his friends over there,” he indicated the transporter platform, “so we can finally get them off the ship?”  

Following Kirk’s gaze, Spock looked down at the tribble in his hands, and frowned, as if he couldn’t quite remember how it got there. Looking up again into Kirk’s amused gaze, he said, hastily, “Of course, Captain.” He stepped forward and placed the small creature very gently onto the padd with its fellows. “I was merely - assessing the soothing properties of the creature. For later analysis.” 

Heroically, Kirk managed to keep his expression neutral. “Of course, you were, Mister Spock. Ever the diligent science officer. I would expect no less.”  

Leonard McCoy patted Yeoman Carter on the shoulder, then stepped back. “How’s that?” 

She moved her wrist, first gingerly, then with increasing confidence, a grin spreading over her face. “That’s - brilliant. Doesn't hurt at all.” She turned the grin on McCoy. “Thanks, Doc.” 

McCoy smiled back. “No problem, Yeoman. But next time, no leading the charge on the landing party, ‘kay?” 

She jumped down from the biobed, and flashed him a cheeky smile. “As if. I’m always so careful. Shy and retiring, that’s me.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he called in amusement after her retreating back. He shook his head, and flicked the dermal regenerator off, laying it down next to the biobed.  

A voice behind him said warmly, “It’s - Doctor McCoy, isn’t it? Leonard McCoy?”  

He turned.  

There was a woman standing near to the door to his office. She was tall, slim, with striking bone structure, and brunette hair piled attractively on her head. She was wearing an Ensign’s uniform in science blues. McCoy was quite certain he’d never seen her before in his life.   

He said, “It is, but you have me at a disadvantage, Ensign -?” 

She sashayed over to him, and she didn’t lose any of her attractiveness for being closer. If anything, being able to see the twinkle in her eyes made him feel positively disoriented. Actually, there was something familiar -  

She said, smiling, “I’m Jadzia. Jadzia D –” she cleared her throat. “Dixon. Jadzia Dixon. I’ve been on temporary assignment, and I’m going back today, but I wanted to say hello.” She held out her hand. She added, “And goodbye.” 

McCoy took her hand in both of his, and said gallantly, “Jadzia, it's a pleasure to meet you. I’m only sorry you’re leaving, so there'll be no chance to extend our acquaintance.”  

She smiled at him so fondly – and in such an oddly familiar way - that he racked his brain again. But surely he’d never have forgotten her? She said with a little sigh, “How foolish of me not to get injured on this trip.” He almost laughed, pleased, and released her hand, fully expecting her to pull away, but instead she simply raised her other hand, so she was now holding one of his in both of hers. She said, “We have a mutual friend. And she was very anxious that I should see you before I left.” She had turned his hand over, palm up, and was looking at it, a smile playing around her lips.  

“And give you,” she looked up at him again, “her very best regards. She hopes you’re well, and thinks of you - fondly.” 

He said, curiously, “Your friend’s name, Ma’am?” 

She was watching him closely. “Dax. Ebony Dax.”  

McCoy could feel a blush begin to heat his cheeks. “Ebony?” 

She nodded, a knowing smile on her face.  

Ebony Dax. Ebony Dax: trill, gymnast, and all-round incredible woman, had been one of the single greatest fortnights of a younger Leonard McCoy’s life. He rallied and said, “Please tell her, Ma’am, that I am well. And that I think of her fondly too. Very fondly. She’s an – extraordinary woman.” 

Jadzia said, a little thickly, “She is that.”  

McCoy looked at her closely, and her eyes had misted slightly. He said, suddenly a little alarmed, “She is well, isn’t she? Ebony?” 

Jadzia said hastily, “Yes.” She swallowed, and smiled. “Yes, she is. Oh, and she also wanted me to say – I told you so.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You said you’d never want to be a ship’s surgeon. Never go into space. And yet,” she indicated the ship around them. “Finest CMO in the fleet, on the most famous  ship  in the fleet. So, Leonard: I told you so.” 

He did laugh then, and she laughed with him. He said, “She said I’d be missing out if I didn’t go. Said it’d suit me.” He shrugged, self-deprecatingly, “Turns out, she was right.”  

“Of course she was.” Jadzia was smiling again.  

McCoy said, suddenly, “Look, I’m off shift in half an hour. We could -”  

But she was shaking her head. “I have to go. Now. I shouldn't have come here at all. It was – indulgent of me. But I thought, if Benjamin can do it -” she broke off. “I’m sorry, I’m being -” she stopped again, before adding, a little sadly, “No. You can’t go back.” 

She took a step away, and McCoy had the oddest impression that something important was slipping from him. He said, reaching for her hand again, “Jadzia -”  

She stepped out of reach and said, “Goodbye, Leonard. Take care of yourself. And this incredible crew.” 

He said, feeling suddenly that it was a promise, carrying more weight than the circumstances warranted, “I will.” 

She gave a short, fond laugh. “I know. I know you will. You'll be – you are - brilliant.”   

McCoy began, “Well, that’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t - ” it was as far as he got.  

She murmured, “Oh, to hell with it.” And before he could react, she’d stepped forward, taken his face in her hands, and kissed him, long, and sweet, and fragrant, and utterly, heartbreakingly lovely, then she stepped back, gave him another glimpse of that incredible smile, turned on her heel, and left.  

Leonard McCoy stood and stared at the closed door in disbelief. He was only roused when the voice of Christine Chapel said dryly from behind him, “Old friend?” 

McCoy tore his gaze away from the door, and to his chief nurse. After a moment, he said, “I’m - not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever met her before.” 

Christine Chapel raised her eyebrows. “Well then, that was a hell of a first impression.” 

Kirk was standing next to Jeffries tube seven, waiting for Spock to satisfy himself that the small family of tribbles that had set up home there hadn’t done any damage to the plasma conduits powering the equipment in his lab, when a voice near him said, “Excuse me, Captain.” 

He turned. Standing behind him, holding out a padd, was a man in command red, wearing Lieutenant’s stripes, whose face he couldn’t immediately identify. The man continued, “Here’s tomorrow’s duty roster for your approval.” His face held a hopeful, friendly smile, that almost suggested they were friends, or at least acquaintances, but Kirk didn’t recognise him.  

Mentally, Kirk frowned to himself. I thought I knew everyone on the command track. Even the new intake.  He took the padd and said, “Thank you, Lieutenant, er, Lieutenant -?” 

The man said, still wearing that earnest smile, “Benjamin Sisko, sir. I’ve been on temporary assignment here. Before I leave, I just want to say – it's been an honour serving with you, sir.” 

Sisko was so utterly, painfully sincere, that Kirk couldn’t help smiling. He said warmly, “Alright, Lieutenant. Carry on.”  

“Thank you, sir.” Sisko turned to leave.  

Next to Kirk, his first officer’s lithe form dropped lightly from the Jeffries tube, but Kirk didn’t immediately turn to him. Something was striking him as a bit - off. He prided himself on being a good judge of character. On his ability to size people up quickly, and estimate their capabilities accurately. It was a skill that the best leaders needed, and he’d been honing it for years. So despite Sisko’s apparent and almost boyish enthusiasm about speaking to the Captain, there was no disguising a natural air of gravitas and charisma that bespoke a rank somewhat higher than the one he currently bore. He’d met Admirals with less of a natural air of authority. 

As the man started to walk away, he said, purely to satisfy his own curiosity, “Sisko.” The Lieutenant turned. Kirk said, “Your new assignment – promotion?”  

Sisko hesitated for the barest second, then straightened. "Yes, sir.” 

“What ship?” 

“Not a ship, sir, a station. Right on the edge of Federation space. Peacekeeping assignment, I guess you’d call it.” 

Kirk said, interested, “Tough job. What’s your plan for when you can’t keep the peace?” 

“Make damn sure we win the war.” Sisko’s eyes were alight. “Sir.” 

“Sounds like a challenge.” 

 “I like a challenge.” 

Kirk smiled then, genuinely. “Don’t we all.” He nodded a dismissal. “Good luck out there, Mister Sisko.” 

The man’s smile almost split his face. “Thank you, Captain Kirk. I’d wish you good luck, but somehow,” he looked to Spock, then around him at the ship, and back to Kirk, “I don’t think you’ll need it.”  

He grinned, then nodded to them both, before turning and rounding the bend in the corridor, passing out of their sight.  

Kirk frowned after him, and addressed Spock. “Benjamin Sisko. Do you know him?” 

“I do not.” 

After a moment, Kirk said thoughtfully, “Well, remember the name, Mister Spock. I think he’ll do well for himself.” 

Notes:

Okay, yes, those last two scenes are just me having fun. I love DS9 and I regret nothing. :)

Chapter 14: Loneliness, and Friendship

Summary:

Scene set after Metamorphosis

Scene set after the Changeling

Scenes set during and after Bread and Circuses

Notes:

Well, this chapter was a hot mess, but fortunately the gorgeous and generous manekikat stopped it from being a complete dumpster fire. All remaining mistakes and general rubbishness are mine.

Also, I've recently discovered the stats tab on AO3, and there are 100 people subscribed to this fic! One hundred! This update goes out with a big hug to all of you. I hope it's not a disappointment.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 5619.52 (Terran Calendar: 12th  June 2267, 21:37)  

Leonard McCoy lay in his quarters, staring at the ceiling, and failing spectacularly to sleep. He had decided, of late, that it was time to heed his own oft- delivered advice, and the physician was currently giving ‘healing himself’ the old college try.  

This primarily involved eating better (giving him a sneaking sympathy with his Captain’s regular complaint about the quality of salad in space, not that he’d ever admit it), drinking less (‘less’ being a relative term), not spending all his time in his office, and sleeping more. It was this last that was currently giving him trouble.  

He found his thoughts drifting to his call with Joanna. Again. He had thought – he had hoped - she’d be excited that he was planning to come back to earth for his leave. But apparently, seeing her father for the first time in over a year was less exciting than the prospect of a holiday with her boyfriend and his family.  Said  ‘boyfriend’ had been extremely casually dropped into the conversation.  

Since when had she started having boyfriends? Alright, she was sixteen, but still. Far too young for – that kind of thing. And holidaying with his family sounded like they were at least a bit serious. He’d tried to ask some polite questions about the lad, only to be rebuffed with a firm, "Daaaad, don’t be like that. Mom said you’d be weird about it.” 

So obviously he’d had to stop asking questions, whilst mentally thanking his ex for making him the bad guy already when he hadn’t even heard about the kid, which was hardly fair. He was giving serious thought to calling Adele, but then he’d only get accused of not trusting her to manage the situation, which wasn’t true, but some reassurance wouldn’t hurt her, surely? 

He rubbed at the frown lines between his eyes. His little girl was growing up. Growing away from him. And he wasn’t close enough to do a thing about it.  

He stared around at the grey ceiling and walls of his quarters. He did like his work. He liked the Enterprise, and her brave, if occasionally fool-hardy, crew. He liked – probably, after all this time, if he was honest with himself, loved - her Captain. Certainly, counted him amongst his dearest friends. He was even, God help him, seriously warming to her first officer. But sometimes, on nights like this, he did wonder if it was all worth it. If there would be enough pieces left when he got home to put together the life he’d left behind.   

He sat up with a sigh. Sleep was clearly not coming any time soon. He might as well do something constructive. He dragged himself across the room and sat at his desk, in front of his computer terminal, switched it on, and stared at it for a moment, waiting for inspiration to strike.  The machine informed him helpfully that he had a number of new messages. He was about to dismiss the notification when a name popped out at him, and in spite of himself, he smiled.  

T’Rena had sent him a message. He'd thought, when they parted, that they might exchange the odd email of professional interest occasionally, if at all. ‘Occasionally’ had turned into every week, and sometimes more frequently. T’Rena was not only interested in his professional work, but also life on a starship. He had found out quite quickly that she had spent very little time anywhere other than Vulcan, and she reacted with a contained delight and interest to even the bare minutiae of his day. Accounts of trips to new worlds elicited positively human levels of enthusiasm. It was the kind of interest he’d once hoped Joanna would show in his work, and it was – he had to admit - pretty nice to have someone show such an active interest in his life.   

They’d got a considerable amount of conversational mileage out of the Horta, then moved onto the effects of the spores of Omicron Ceti Three. She’d thought he was joking about the entire crew deserting, but his paper on the incident had proved persuasive.  

Starfleet still had an embargo on talk of their mirror universe experience, but he was looking forward to describing a piratical Vulcan. He had a feeling she’d think he was joking again. His store of outlandish stories of visits to alien worlds was growing by the week, thanks to his Captain’s single-minded devotion to their mission of exploration, so he had no fear that the conversation would dry up any time soon.  

He opened her message with a smile, which widened as she expressed carefully worded incredulity around the contents of his last missive, and read quickly onwards, before stopping at the line: ‘- I did think to call you, as you indicated that would not be unwelcome at this time, but I did not wish to interrupt your off-duty time, as busy as you are.’  

He stared at the screen for a moment. Talking to T’Rena might be – strange. There was a mass of personality, warmth, and humour beneath that reserved Vulcan exterior, so much so that he occasionally forgot he was messaging a Vulcan at all, but in person, well, things might be more - stilted. But then, her time aboard the Enterprise had been positively enjoyable, and she had stated that he would be welcome to call her, so - 

He glanced at the chrono. Her province of Vulcan was a few hours behind ship’s time, but she had indicated she spent much of her time in her rooms, or the library, and was therefore almost always reachable, and he really didn’t want to spend any more time staring at a blank screen, or that grey ceiling. He flicked the comm switch on his desk.  

“McCoy to Uhura.”  

Her voice came back after only a moment. “Uhura here.” Her voice sounded significantly more relaxed than usual and he realised, cursing himself for a fool, that she was off duty.  

“Sorry to bother you, Nyota, are you on the bridge, by any chance?” 

“No, I’m in my quarters, but Dan – Lieutenant Whiley - is up there, if there’s something you need?” 

“No, I – never mind. I wanted to make a call, but it’s not important.  

“Personal call?” 

“I, er, I suppose it is, yeah.” He was suddenly wishing he’d never started this.  

Her voice was gently amused. “I’m guessing you didn’t have it booked.” 

“Well, not as such, no.”  

“The board was pretty clear when I left the bridge. Give me a second.”  

He began, “Don’t go to any -” but the line had already gone silent.  

He was strongly regretting this entire impulse. He was putting his colleagues to trouble, and T’Rena would probably be horrified by – or at least, pointedly indifferent to – his call. He should just have a drink and go to bed.  

Uhura’s voice came back. “Board’s still clear, send me your contact’s details and I’ll see if I can put you through.” 

He took a breath and forwarded the relevant details to Uhura. She said, in a mildly chastising tone, “Hmm. This sounds like work - I hope you’re planning to sleep tonight.” 

He smiled to himself, even as he said, a little anxiously, “Nyota, you didn’t have to go to the bridge -” 

She interrupted him archly, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “I don’t need the bridge to work my magic, Doctor. Connecting now.” 

Vulcan, Stardate: 5619.52  (Terran Calendar: 12th  June 2267)  

In her rooms, in the lower east wing of Mount Seleya’s sprawling temple complex, T’Rena stared hard at her computer screen, trying to decide what to do.  

He had said he would welcome her call. He had verified the truth of this assertion by providing her with the relevant information, including how to contact him, and the times he was generally – subject to the demands of his role on the Enterprise – off-duty. And their helpful correspondence on her current area of research had reached a point where in-person (or on screen) communication would be the natural next step.  

All the same, being the one to initiate it felt a little – presumptuous.  

Ship’s time on the Enterprise was ahead of Vulcan, so mid-afternoon for her would be late evening for him, and fall happily in line with the time he had indicated he would be free to talk. And she was keen to solicit his opinion on a potential breakthrough she had made with her research. He would, she hoped, be interested, if not a little impressed.  

But still, she hesitated. Perhaps, after all, she did not need to speak to him. Perhaps another written communication would serve just as well. Thus decided, she stepped away from her computer, then jumped as her console emitted the trilling beep of an incoming call. It wasn’t a sound she heard very often, and certainly not unscheduled.  

Intrigued, she moved back, sat down, and accepted the call. The face of a strikingly beautiful human woman appeared on her screen. Her features were vaguely familiar but T'Rena was unable to recall exactly where she had seen her before.  

The woman said, in careful, deliberate Vulcan, “USS Enterprise transmitting to Mount Seleya Temple Complex, Vulcan. Incoming call from Chief Medical Officer McCoy, for Purdor-tor Kla-hilan T’Rena.” She waited for a response, and when none was immediately forthcoming, smiled encouragingly, some of her formal air dropping away. “Would that be you?” 

T’Rena, who had frozen in place at the mention of the Enterprise, rallied quickly. “Yes, that is me. I’m sorry – did you say Doctor -? Leonard? Leonard is calling?” 

The woman blinked. “Yes, he is, shall I - put him through?” 

“Yes. No. Wait one moment.” She added quickly, “Please.” 

The woman’s smile widened. She said. “Of course.” 

T’Rena turned off the screen, jumped up, and moved to her small closet. The robe she was wearing was old, comfortable, and a favourite of many years, but hardly fit to be talking to the Enterprise. 

She changed it quickly for a more formal one, straightened it, and hurried back to her desk. When she turned the screen back on, the woman was still waiting patiently. Then, entirely uninvited, she said approvingly, “Oh, that is nice. The colour suits you.”  

T’Rena blinked, unsure how to respond to such a statement. The woman leaned forward, slightly closer to the screen, and added, “But you just need to -” she reached up and flicked her dark hair clear of the nape of her neck. Slightly confused, T’Rena imitated her action, to find her own, shoulder length hair had caught in the collar of her robe. She pulled it free, and ran a hand over it to restore its former smoothness.  

The woman on the screen nodded, pleased. “Perfect. I’ll connect you, shall I?” 

“Yes.” Then, “Thank you – er -” 

“Lieutenant Uhura. But please, call me Nyota.” 

“Nyota. Thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome. I’ll put you through now.”  

Leonard McCoy sat in front of the blank monitor. This seemed to be taking an awfully long time. Maybe she wasn’t in her rooms after all. Maybe she didn’t want to take his call. God, maybe Uhura was trying to persuade her to talk to him out of some misplaced sense of helpfulness. “Oh, do take his call, he doesn’t get off the ship much, his family don’t really keep in touch, he’s probably lonely.” He rubbed his forehead wearily. What the hell was he doing? The last thing he needed in his life was another Vulcan. Even as a colleague. The one he already had was trouble enough. He’d almost decided to disconnect the call and blame technology, when the screen came to life and T’Rena’s image appeared.  

He’d quite forgotten, over the intervening weeks, how pleasing her face was to look at. As a general rule, he felt all Vulcans looked a bit severe. Probably due to the eyebrows and the ears and the general lack of smiling. T’Rena’s face was about as far from severe as could be imagined. Everything about her seemed gentle, somehow, as if all the hard edges of life had passed her by. Even her pointed ears, which on other Vulcans reminded McCoy of old-Earth satanic imagery, looked more elf-like than devilish, giving her a charming, otherworldly air. He made a mental note never to say any of that to her, lest she be mortally offended.  

She said, formally, “Good evening, Doctor McCoy.” 

He shook himself from his reverie. “I thought we’d agreed you were going to call me Leonard?” 

Before his assignment on the Enterprise, he’d never seen someone smile only with their eyes. T’Rena seemed to have mastered the art, and it was somehow even more disarming than a full smile would have been.  

“My apologies, Leonard. Of course.” 

He cleared his throat. “I hope this isn’t too much of an imposition, calling like this, but I was reading your message, and I had some thoughts about your research, and I thought calling would be, er, easier, really.” He realised only as he said it that it didn’t sound like a great reason for calling unannounced.  

But she said, nodding briskly, “Most logical, Leonard.” 

McCoy blinked. He almost wanted to ask her to repeat herself, so he could record it and play it back to Spock at regular intervals. She continued, “Please acquaint me with your thoughts.” 

McCoy called up her previous message alongside her image on the screen. As he did so, he said casually, “By the way, we visited the craziest planet the other day, and I was wondering - do you have anything in that incredible library of yours about - magic?”  

He glanced back to her image in time to see that look of suppressed enthusiasm he was beginning to anticipate. And enjoy. He grinned cheerfully at her. “Brace yourself. You’re really not going to believe this one.” 

Two hours later, and half a deck away, Nyota Uhura was about to get into bed when a thought occurred. She padded across to her computer terminal and called up all current communications activity on the Enterprise. There, amongst all the regular ship’s business, was the call to Vulcan. Still active. She raised an eyebrow, smiled to herself, made a mental note to quiz Christine at the earliest possible opportunity, turned off her computer, and went to bed.  

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 5634.82 (Terran calendar: 15th June 2267, 00:30, ship’s night)

Kirk glanced at his first officer across the table. He was sipping from the purple Vulcan drink he was so fond of, and looking as relaxed as Jim had ever seen him. They had finished their reports, and their chess game. Then another chess game. The natural moment for Kirk to leave had come and gone a number of times. Jim wondered if he should call it a night, but once again, an odd sense of reluctance tugged at him, and prevented him from speaking.  

They had met in Spock’s quarters, for a change of scene more than anything, as they occasionally did since their visit to Vulcan. Jim privately felt it provided Spock with a slight advantage, as the increased temperature, at what was invariably the end of a long day, made him tired more quickly. But he couldn’t bring himself to mind. He enjoyed these glimpses into his first officer’s private life, and Spock was always – just ever so slightly – more relaxed here, and a few degrees of temperature was a very small price to pay.  

He slowly swirled the drink in his hand. After Vulcan, Spock, as requested, had gone to McCoy and secured the finest bottle of bourbon the doctor had in his possession. Kirk wished he’d been a fly on the wall for that conversation. Said bottle now resided in Spock’s quarters, as Jim had – rightly – assumed that any bottle left in his own quarters would be fair game for a visiting McCoy. So he was now working his way slowly through it during his relatively rare visits to Spock’s quarters.  

For his part, Spock seemed to have an endless supply of the Vulcan drink he preferred, and they had been drinking in companionable silence for the better part of ten minutes when Kirk said quietly, “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?”  

Spock blinked across at him. An eyebrow rose. “At zero thirty hours?” 

“Speaks the man who I found fixing a plasma conduit at oh two hundred hours on my first day.” 

Spock acknowledged the truth of this with a small tilt of the head, then said simply, “You are not keeping me from anything.”  

“Good.” Peaceful silence fell for a few more minutes.  

Eventually, Jim said slowly, “I’m glad he stayed. A big part of me wanted to show him the ship. Engineering, you know? Look, look what you did. The miracles you wrought.” He gestured around him, aware of Spock’s regard. “But imagine being the Companion. In love with him. All that time, but no idea how to express it, no idea how to even be a lover to him. And both of them lonely -” he tailed off. Silence filled the room for a long, long moment. Eventually, Jim said quietly, “Yeah. I’m glad he stayed.” 

Silence fell again. Around them, the slight vibration of the engines of the Enterprise filtered through the decks, a low hum, practically out of hearing. Jim found himself almost, almost wishing, for the only time he could ever recall, that he was sitting here without that constant subconscious reminder of duty. Of propriety. Of Starfleet.  

I must be tired. I should turn in.   

Then Spock said, matching his quiet tone, “I would have liked the opportunity to show Mister Cochrane the advances that have been made in his technology. And I believe Engineer Scott would have relished the chance to speak to him.” 

Kirk gave a low laugh. “Relished? The inventor of the warp drive? We’d have had to lock him in the brig to keep him away from the man.”  

“Indeed.” Spock regarded him thoughtfully. After a moment, he added, “But I also believe that he made the correction decision. The Companion had dedicated her existence to him, and ultimately sacrificed her immortality to be with him. He returned her feelings, in spite of his doubts. It would have been an act of cruelty to them both to leave.” 

Kirk stared at him for a long moment. “I - didn’t think that would be your take on it. I thought you’d think the Companion was, well, illogical.” 

“I touched her mind.” Spock’s voice was quiet, but firm. He wasn’t looking at his captain. “Her love for him was profound. Such things – can transcend logic.”  

Kirk felt an odd catch in his throat, temporarily robbing him of speech. The atmosphere changed, as the air between them seemed heavier. He swallowed, took a breath, then said, in a conscious effort to lighten the mood, “I’m gonna tell Bones you said that.”  

Spock turned to him, and an eyebrow quirked. “I am not sure the good doctor will believe you.” 

Kirk smiled again. “Probably not. I won’t bother then.” He picked up his glass and realised it was empty. He sighed. “I should – we both should – get some sleep.” 

After another moment, Spock said slowly, “That - would be wise.” 

“Yep.” Kirk drew a long breath. “Right.” He raised himself gradually out of the chair. “I’ll get going then.”  

Spock stood in his turn. “Goodnight, Jim. Sleep well.” 

Kirk turned his warmest smile on his first officer. “Goodnight Spock. You too.”  

That strange sense of reluctance to leave tugged at him all the way to his own quarters. Looking at his bed, he remembered, suddenly, the night of their visit to Vulcan: falling asleep together, and how natural that had felt. How strange. That something so – intimate - should feel so right, so comfortable, with Spock, of all people.  

He threw off his uniform, and wandered over to the bed. He didn’t think he had ever felt so comfortable with anyone as with Spock. Being in his company felt as freeing as being alone had once done. But without the risk that he would ever be lonely.   

And being alone had sometimes begun to feel – lonely, in a way that it had never done before.  

Tired, he thought again, as he lay down. I’m just - tired.   

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 5798.27 (Terran Calendar: 7th July 2267, 16:15)

Nyota Uhura sat on the edge of her bed and stared around her quarters. Or at least, the quarters she had been informed were hers. The doctor had been gently insistent that it would be good for her to be in a familiar environment, so she had obediently left sickbay. She had thanked him politely for all the work he had put in to helping her recover, and smiled at him when he had patted her on the shoulder as she left and assured her – yet again – that the rest of her memory would – probably – return: it was just a matter of time. She hadn’t had the heart to tell him that she didn’t remember his name.  

She had asked the computer for directions to her quarters, and her name had been outside the door, so this was obviously the right place. She had hoped – more than she realised – that being here would trigger a flood of memories. But it had not. She sat disconsolately on the end of her bed, running the material of a lovely multi-coloured blanket between her fingers and trying not to cry. It would come back to her. It would. It had to. She couldn’t continue to be this – useless.  

The only consolation that could be drawn from looking around her quarters was that she appeared to have good taste. The furnishings were nicely ornamented in complimentary colours, and a quick glance in the wardrobe had revealed that she owned much more stylish clothing than the uniform she was currently wearing. But there was no accompanying rush of familiarity. No sudden feeling of home.  

Tears pricked her eyes again. She took a few deep breaths. The sound of the door chime made her jump.  

She had said, automatically, “Come in,” before realising that she didn’t want any company.  

The door slid aside to reveal a tall, dark haired man in science blues, wearing the rank of commander, and – quite obviously – Vulcan. She stood, feeling both confused and relieved. Confused, because she had no idea what he could possibly want, and relieved, because this identification at least, was easy. She had read through the entire crew manifest and there was only one Vulcan on board.  

She said politely, “Commander Spock.” 

He had taken a step inside the door, and was regarding her coolly. Now he inclined his head in acknowledgement of her greeting, and said, “Lieutenant Uhura.” 

She swallowed, hoping he would lead the conversation from here, because she had absolutely no idea what they would usually say to each other.  

To her relief, he began almost immediately. “The Doctor informed me that you had returned to your quarters. He also indicated to me that your memory was not yet fully restored.  

She nodded. “That’s right.” 

He went on, “I have undertaken some reading on the matter, and it has been proven in a number of studies that exposure to music, particularly familiar music, can activate centres of the brain not strongly utilised in the retraining you have undergone thus far. The doctor is in agreement that such an approach might facilitate your recall.”  

She blinked. Music?  

He continued, “I must complete my shift now, but I would be amenable to returning here afterwards to reproduce some of the music we have played together. If you believe that would be of assistance to you.” 

She stared at him for a long moment, then looked around her. “Sorry, sir, on – on what?” 

“My lyre. I have frequently accompanied you in the past.” 

“Oh. And what do I play?” 

“You sing, Lieutenant. You have a most pleasing voice.”  

“Do I?” 

“Yes.”  

“Oh.” 

“You do not recall.” 

“No.” She wanted to cry again. He was making an obvious effort to assist her and she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.  

“You have taught me a number of melodies that I understand to be favourites of yours. I would be pleased to reproduce them for you in order to assist the process of restoring your memories.” 

She swallowed hard. “I - yes. I think I’d like that. Thank you.” 

He nodded. “Would nineteen hundred hours be a suitable time?” 

Uhura had no idea what her daily schedule was. “Yes - er, I think so, yes. I think that’s fine.”  

“I shall return at that hour. Good day, Lieutenant.” 

Uhura sat back heavily on the bed. Why didn’t she remember him? The retraining of her mind in her work would be complete in less than a week by the doctor’s estimate, and had been remarkably easy. The doctor had theorised that the neural pathways associated with her work were still in place, simply – for want of a better term – deactivated, and that by reviewing the relevant information, she was reactivating them, and recalling information she effectively already knew. That would certainly explain the speed at which she was being retrained. But why wasn’t the same principle working as fast with the rest of her life? Why didn’t she remember her quarters? Or her friends?  

She stared hard at a beautifully carved statue on a shelf near the bed, trying to recall what it represented. Or where she’d got it from. Or who had given it to her. Or....just anything about it. She stared until her head ached, then gave a cry of frustration. Nothing. She was shaking with suppressed disappointment, and the tears she’d been holding back for two days began to fall.  

Then her door chime sounded. She ignored it, hoping they’d go away. It sounded again. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to look like she wasn’t crying. To her surprise, the door opened without any summons from her, to reveal Christine Chapel, the blonde-haired nurse from sickbay. Uhura felt a distinct measure of relief. If she had to see anyone, she was glad it was Christine. The woman had been extraordinarily kind and attentive throughout her time in sickbay, and unlike everyone else, had not seemed remotely impatient or put out by Uhura’s lack of recall of even the most basic things.  

Chapel began, “Ny, I’m sorry, but you didn’t answer, and I -”  Then she spotted Uhura, sitting on the bed.  

She broke off, and said, “Oh, Ny.” She crossed the room quickly and, to Uhura’s surprise, knelt down in front of her, taking one of Uhura’s hands in hers. 

Uhura found herself crying harder. She gasped out, “I’m sorry.”  

Chapel shook her head, “Don’t be silly, you’ve been amazing, Ny, it’s totally normal to be upset. It’s healthy to let your feelings out.” She squeezed Uhura’s hand, and then said, “Can I – would it be okay if I hugged you?” 

Nyota didn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nodded. Christine rose, sat next to her on the bed, and pulled her gently into her arms. Uhura clung to her and cried her frustration, fear, and unhappiness into the other woman’s shoulder.  

After a long while, her tears subsided, and her breathing began to level out. She sat back. Chapel’s shoulder looked like someone had spilt their drink on it. She gestured to the damp patch and said, again, “I’m sorry.”  

Christine looked down at herself and laughed. “That’s probably the nicest thing I’ve ever got on this uniform.” She looked up again and caught Uhura’s eye. “Starship nurse, remember?” She pulled a mock horrified face and in spite of herself, Uhura smiled.  

Chapel’s face softened. “Feel better?” 

Uhura nodded. “Yeah. A little. Still feel – useless though.”  

“Nonsense,” Chapel said briskly. She was smoothing some of Uhura’s hair back into place. “I won’t hear that. You’ll be back on the bridge in a week, Doctor McCoy said.” 

Uhura stood, and began to pace. “Yes, and I am starting to remember my job, but why can’t I remember you? Why didn’t I remember the doctor’s name was McCoy?” 

Chapel blinked at her. “Well, maybe because - we haven’t covered that stuff. The priority was to get you back on the bridge as soon as possible – you're the best at what you do. But you’re right,” she nodded decisively. “We should have.” She resettled herself and looked at Nyota expectantly. “Let’s do it now.” She spread her hands. “Ask me anything.” 

Nyota stared at her, then crossed her arms. “Okay. Let’s start at the top. The Captain. James Kirk. Do I like him?” 

“Yes. You like him a lot. You admire him. You think he’s the best captain in the fleet. I’ve got no basis for comparison, but I agree with you, for what it’s worth.” 

“Does he like me?” 

“Well, if your repeatedly glowing performance reviews are anything to go by, then he’s just short of setting up a shrine to you next to that communications station.” 

Uhura almost giggled, then straightened her face. “Okay. Commander Spock. Do I like him?” 

Chapel nodded immediately. “Yes. And he likes you too, before you ask.” 

Uhura bit her lip. “Chris, am I – am I with anyone? Romantically, I mean.”  

To her relief, Chapel shook her head. “No, not now. You had a – bit of a fling with Carla Raines last year, but it ended very amicably. Dedicated career woman, that’s you.” Uhura nodded. Chapel added wryly, “Not that half the crew wouldn’t like to date you, given the chance.” 

“Chris!” 

Chapel laughed. “Well, it’s true.”  

Uhura frowned suddenly. “He’s coming here later. Commander Spock.” 

Chapel looked surprised. “Is he? What for?” 

“He said that – he thought music might help with my memory. He said we – performed together.” 

Chapel’s eyes lit up. “Yes. Yes, you did. Oh, that’s a great idea. I’m sure he’s right.” 

“So - we were close – before I lost my memory?”  

Chapel put her head on one side, considering. “As close as anyone on the ship is to Spock, I would think. Except the Captain, and the Doctor.”  

“Is he with anyone?”  

“Who, the doctor?” 

“No, Commander Spock.”  

“No. We, er – we found out earlier this year he was engaged to be married. It was – broken off – and that’s a story you'll want to hear one day – but no, he’s not. With anyone.”  

Uhura was looking at her curiously. After a moment, she said, “Chris - do you- ?” 

Chapel said quickly, “No!” 

On Uhura’s expression she added, “I - I used to. You know, hope that something might – but no. No. We’d actually be a terrible couple, I’m sure.” She smiled half-heartedly.  

Sensing a subject change might be in order, Uhura said, “Oh, I didn’t ask about the Captain. Is he -?” 

Chapel shook her head. “Oh definitely not. He’s even more career oriented than you. Although -” she looked thoughtful for a moment. “Funny you should mention him after Mister Spock -” her voice trailed off and she raised an eyebrow at Uhura.  

Uhura’s eyes widened. “You’re not suggesting-” 

Chapel said firmly. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just saying, let’s revisit this conversation after you’ve done a few bridge shifts.”  

Uhura’s eyebrows rose. Chapel said hastily, “I don’t think they’ve -  I mean, Jan would tell us if anything like that was going on, I’m sure.”  

Uhura frowned. “Who’s Jan?”  

“Janice Rand. The captain’s yeoman. She came to visit you in sickbay when she could.”  

“Oh!” Uhura’s face resolved into a pleased smile. “The attractive blonde girl.”  

“Hey!” Christine assumed a faux- offended expression. “I'm the attractive blonde girl.” 

Uhura looked at her directly. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”  

Chapel laughed and blushed at the same time, as Uhura smiled.  

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, as they talked about the ship, the crew, and their respective jobs. For the first time since her encounter with Nomad, Uhura began to feel as if she might truly be at home on this ship, with these unfamiliar people.  

A chime from the door startled them both.  

Uhura called, “Come in.” 

Commander Spock entered, a Vulcan lyre in hand. Both women stood.  

“Good evening Lieutenant Uhura, Nurse Chapel.”  

Chapel said easily, “Good evening,” as Uhura murmured, “Commander.” 

Chapel continued, “Well, I’ll get going -” 

Uhura felt an unexpected rush of dismay. “Do - do you have to?” 

Chapel glanced uncertainly to Spock, who said, “You would be welcome to stay, Nurse.” 

She looked back to Uhura, who nodded. Chapel said, “Well, that would be lovely, thank you.” She sat again, next to Uhura. “And we’re off duty, so it’s Christine, please. Or Chris.” She looked up, and for one of the few times in their acquaintance, Spock’s gaze softened on her as he said, “Christine.” She smiled warmly at him in return, and the thought occurred to her that simply being his friend might be no bad thing after all.  

Spock seated himself opposite the two women, and began to tune his lyre. Uhura said hesitantly, “I - I won’t be able to sing with you – I don’t remember - “ She broke off. Christine squeezed her hand.  

Spock said mildly. “I was not expecting you to. It would be better if you remained as relaxed as possible. I will endeavour to play music that is familiar to you, but do not strain to recall it or feel despondent if you cannot do so.” 

Christine murmured, “I told you.” Uhura shot her a wry look before settling more comfortably next to her friend.  

Spock was on the third song, segueing easily from one to the next, his long fingers moving elegantly across the strings, when Chapel noticed it. Next to her, quietly, almost under her breath, her head against Christine’s shoulder, Uhura was humming. She waited a few moments to be sure, then said quietly, “Ny?” 

Uhura looked up at her, “Hmm?”  

“Do you- do you know this song?”  

“Yes, of course, my -” she broke off. Spock looked across at them both. Uhura straightened, and stared at Chapel, eyes wide, and brimming with sudden tears. “My mother used to sing this to me. I know this song. I know this song.” 

Chapel laughed in sheer delight, as Uhura threw her arms around her before crossing to the surprised Vulcan, and doing the same. “Thank you.” Spock had stopped playing. She said, “Please, play it again. Please.”  

With a nod of his head, and an almost smile, he did as requested. Uhura returned to sit next to Chapel. As he came to the second verse, very softly, her arm around her friend, Uhura began to sing.  

Planet Four, Star System 892, Stardate: 6013.59  (Terran calendar: 6th August 2267)

Merik said quietly, “Most of my men went the same way. I hoped I would feel it less with yours.” 

Kirk didn’t spare him a glance. The contempt he felt for this man was so visceral, he was sure that any interaction would result in him punching Merik in the face. And that would hardly help their current circumstances. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the arena.  

Flavius was doing his best not to hurt McCoy, but with the current mood of the Proconsul and the crowd, Kirk wasn’t sure how long he’d be able get away with it. Spock, on the other hand, had an opponent who would kill him, given the chance. But from what Kirk could see, Spock was patiently trying to reason him out if it. Kirk had never felt so frustratedly fond of anybody in his life. Kill him, Kirk thought desperately, Don’t take the chance, just – kill him.   

He couldn’t stop his gaze returning to Spock. He’d never seen his first officer fight before. He’d fought at his side. Even been Spock’s opponent. But he’d never had the chance to simply sit and watch. Spock moved like a dancer. Every movement graceful, with an innate sense of purpose, his superior physical strength effectively concealed, until the time came to strike.  

But Spock continued to talk to his opponent, easily parrying his thrusts, and sidestepping his attempts to drive his sword home. Next to him, Flavius was making a good show of trying to hit McCoy, whose parrying, at least, had improved. Kirk wanted to cry out with frustration. This stalemate could go on all day.  

Then McCoy fell.  

Kirk heard the inhalation of the crowd, saw Flavius’s hesitation. There was no pretending here. His friend was down, and vulnerable. Flavius would have no choice but to strike, or be killed himself for cowardice. Even from across the arena he saw the moment McCoy realised his mistake, and its consequences. Kirk began to rise, and a large hand fell hard on his shoulder, shoving him back into his seat.  

Time seemed to slow, as Flavius raised his sword, and Kirk felt the gut-wrenching horror of being able to do nothing to prevent the nightmare about to unfold in front of him.  

Spock was not so restrained. And he was fast. In one swift movement, he delivered an immobilising punch to his opponent, then stepped across to Flavius and dropped the unsuspecting man with a nerve pinch to the neck. A sudden, shocked silence fell.  

Kirk almost slumped in his relief. The restraining hand fell away. He stared across the arena at his first officer, who seemed oblivious to having the stunned, undivided attention of everyone present. The crowd began to murmur. They had been denied bloodshed. Spock was the victor, with barely a hair out of place. He had positioned himself between his fallen friend and any potential threat, lest either of the men on the ground make the tactical error of trying to rise. He stood over McCoy, sword in hand, every muscle and sinew on alert, scanning the arena for any movement that might be a threat. For a moment, Kirk was thrown back to their time on Vulcan. Spock in his element: timeless, transcendent, unreachable: every inch the descendent of the warriors his ancestors had once been.  

Seeing no immediate peril, Spock took advantage of the silence to raise McCoy to his feet, then, once his focus was no longer required for the task at hand, stared around him at the crowd, tension in every line of his movement. Until his eyes found his Captain, safely in the stands, and he visibly relaxed, a look of profound relief crossing his face. Even over the distance that separated them, Kirk saw the almost smile playing across his first officer’s face. He couldn’t stop the smile that came to his own, along with a rush of pride, relief, and affection so profound it was almost dizzying.  

USS Enterprise, same time, same day  

On the bridge, Scotty and Chekov poured over a roughly drawn diagram of the power grids supplying the main council buildings and the arena complex. Battling their anxiety, and the tension on the bridge, both men were forcing themselves to concentrate on the task at hand. 

Scotty was saying, “Aye, but we’ll need to hit both. The trick’ll be to balance the power so it looks like an overload, not -” 

He was interrupted by a cry of joy from the communications station. The entire bridge crew, as one, turned to Uhura, looks of anxious hope on their faces. 

“They won.” She was almost crying with relief. “They’re being taken back to the holding area. They won. They’re safe.”  

Then she added, dampening the air of celebration that had erupted, “For now, at least.”  

Scotty had closed his eyes in relief, but now he opened them again, his face set in a look of grim determination. He turned back to Chekov. “Well, they’ve bought us some time, lad. Let’s use it.”  

Planet Four, Star System 892

Kirk stared around him at the remarkably well-appointed room. It was by far the nicest prison he’d ever been in, and had obviously been originally designed with visiting dignitaries in mind. He’d checked the entire space over for potential escape routes twice. There were no windows, and two doors, both of which were not only locked, but guarded. There was also, he noted, no food or drink present, although he doubted, given the opulence of the room, that the current plan was to starve him to death.  

He wished he’d been imprisoned with his friends. Spock, at least. He had always been convinced that, between them, they could find a way out of anything, but this cell was currently defeating him. Nothing that could even be a decent weapon. He walked slowly to the bed, and sat down. It was scant consolation that if the Vulcan were here, he doubted they’d be able to escape without some miraculous outside intervention. Still, at least they’d be able to talk. He found himself wondering, as the clock ticked towards his death, if there were too many things they’d left unsaid.  

He’d never expected that death might come like this. Signposted, with a countdown. He’d expected a phaser, or a photon torpedo – something pretty much instant, not leaving much time for reflection. He wasn’t sure the current situation was in any way preferable. This much time to think was not a luxury he was usually afforded, and right now, it wasn’t looking like a good thing.  

He rubbed his hands across his face. His ship was safe. His crew was safe. Spock and McCoy would outlive him, and where there was life, there was hope. His men might still be rescued. His death would serve as a warning – no Federation ships would approach this planet again in a hurry. All of these were good things.  

None of which changed his feelings one iota. He didn’t want to die here, on this backwards planet. He wanted to be where he belonged: on his ship. He wanted – not to be alone. He wished, suddenly that he’d spent less time alone during his single-minded drive to command a starship. Oh, it had been worth it, but all those hours of duty and study were less comforting to recall than any one moment of closeness, of warmth, of friendship. Of love. Would anyone truly grieve for him? He’d be missed, certainly, by his crew. Right up until the moment their new Captain arrived.  

He stood, irritated at himself. When had he become maudlin? He wasn’t dead yet. He thought, again, of Spock. He wouldn't be entertaining such depressing thoughts if his first officer were here. If Spock were here, he’d be telling him the odds of escape, he’d be monologuing about the various fascinations of this society, he’d be – He took a breath against a sudden wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm his equilibrium.  

Why the hell aren’t you here, Spock?  

Great, now he was getting irrationally angry at the Vulcan for not being trapped  with him. And what would they do if he was?   

Abruptly, he began to pace the room. That strange, profound feeling from the arena hadn’t subsided. But surely it was just the intensity of their current situation.  Nothing more than that.  Perhaps it was good that Spock was being held somewhere else. What would he say to Spock if he were here?    

A sound at the door broke his reverie, and made him turn, instantly on alert. A curtain drew back, and the woman who had been with Merik earlier entered. She had lost none of her attractiveness in the intervening time. And at least now, with her company, whatever her intent, he could stop thinking about wildly inappropriate non-existent relationships, and just – act. 

USS Enterprise

Scotty had almost finished the latest power calculations at the science station, when he heard the gasp of shock from Uhura. Glancing around to make sure no-one else had heard, he stepped quietly across to her. “Lass?” 

She looked up at him, her eyes widened in horror. She took a steadying breath, then glanced around, before whispering, “Scotty, they’re going to kill him. The Captain. Three hours from now. In the arena. There won’t even be a fight. They’re just going to – execute him.”  

Scotty stared at her for a long moment, then swallowed hard. Then he turned to call across the bridge. “Chekov. We’ve got two hours, lad. Speed it up.” He turned back to Uhura. “Get Desalle up here to sit in the chair. I’ll need t' focus on the calculations.” He looked to the science station, muttered, “What I wouldn’t give to have Mister Spock here.” He turned back to Uhura. “Call Engineering. Tell Carla Raines it’s all hers. Tell her t’call me if the warp core is going to explode, or else - deal with it herself.”  

James Kirk stared up at the – no doubt expensive – drapes that covered much of the ceiling near the bed. Drusilla was a warm weight at his side, curled against him, her arm across his chest. In any other circumstances, this would be almost his favourite part - the warm, quiet intimacy of the aftermath. He hadn’t realised quite how much he missed this.  

Instead he was being forcibly reminded of one of the many reasons why he had long ago vowed never, however tempted, to sleep with a member of his crew. This nagging feeling that however pleasant the experience, and however enthusiastic the partner, that they were there for reasons other than purely wanting to be.  

He looked down at her, sleeping peacefully against him, and pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. She stirred against him, and snuggled closer in a way that made him simultaneously smile affectionately, and feel worse.  

He wondered what time it was. How much time he had left. He wondered where Spock and Bones were. Alive, at least, and together. Drusilla had assured him of that much. No doubt getting on each other’s nerves. The thought brought a genuine smile to his face.  

He wished he’d beamed down alone. His death, the Proconsul had assured him, would be swift – whatever that meant in this barbaric civilisation – but Spock and McCoy would be sent back into the arena. Presumably, until they were killed. Part of him was glad he wouldn’t see it, but a more unworthy, vengeful part of him wanted to see the inevitable body count that would result from putting an armed, angry, grieving Spock into the arena. He would be the new hero of their games. Might even live long enough to see rescue, if the Enterprise gave them up for dead, and reported back to Starfleet. He could, potentially, with enough planning, be extracted without violation of the prime directive.  

And they weren’t dead yet. There was still a chance that help would come. He had no doubt that even now, frantic efforts were being made aboard the Enterprise to retrieve the landing party without violating the prime directive, or the order Kirk had given. What they could do, he wasn’t certain, but he knew they’d be trying to come up with - something. And if they did come up with something, he needed to be ready.  

He squeezed the woman besides him, gently, “Drusilla.” 

She stirred in her sleep, and he shook her lightly, carefully. “Drusilla.”  

Her eyes flickered open, and she took him in for a moment, before smiling. “It’s you.” 

He smiled back. “I’m sorry to wake you.” 

“Is there something you need?” She sat up quickly.  

He pulled her gently, encouraging her to fall back against him. She smiled, and relaxed back into place. He said, “Nothing. Just – information. Do you know where they are holding my men?”  

“The – the dour one, and the one who can’t hold a sword?” 

Kirk blinked. “Yes, that’s – them.” 

“They will be scheduled to fight again. So they will be in the gladiatorial cells, under the arena.” 

“Can you describe to me how to get there from here? And the layout of the tunnels under the arena?” 

She looked alarmed. “You will not – they are guarded – you will be hurt if you try to run – “ 

He shook his head. “I’m not going to do anything foolish. But it’s always good to be prepared.” 

She still looked uncertain. He raised his hand, stroked her cheek gently. “Please, Drusilla.” 

She leaned a little into his touch, before saying shyly, “I’m not very good at directions. But I could – draw a map for you?” 

Kirk smiled at her. “Perfect.” 

Leonard McCoy sat at the back of their small cell and watched as Spock tested the strength of the bars for what had to be the tenth time. The Vulcan had established a pattern. Walk a step, test the bars. Walk a step, test the bars. The action was translating into McCoy’s consciousness as: step, rattle, rattle, pause. Step, rattle, rattle, pause. Over and over. 

After his experience in the arena, McCoy was still living on his last nerve, and the sound was driving him crazy.  

He said, keeping his voice as calm as he could, “Angry, Mister Spock, or frustrated, perhaps?” 

Spock froze in his current action, and took a breath before saying coolly, “Such emotions are foreign to me, Doctor. I’m merely testing the strength of the door.” 

“For the fifteenth time.” He inhaled slowly, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He owed this man his life. “Spock.” He cleared his throat, tried again. Their relationship did not lend itself to the kind of open conversation that these words needed, and in this moment, he felt that fact viscerally, and with something like regret. “Spock, I know we’ve had our disagreements. Maybe they’re jokes. I don’t know. As Jim says, we’re not often sure ourselves sometimes, but what I’m trying to say is -” 

Spock cut him off. “Doctor, I am seeking a means of escape. Will you please be brief.” 

“Well, what I’m trying to say is – you saved my life in the arena.” 

“Yes, that’s quite true.” 

McCoy felt irritation spike again in the face of Spock’s indifference. Was his life truly worth so little that saving it could be brushed off so easily? There was more than a little hurt in his voice as he said, testily, “I’m trying to thank you, you pointed-eared hobgoblin!” 

“Oh, yes.” Spock’s sigh of tried patience was almost audible. “You humans have that emotional need to express gratitude. You’re welcome, I believe, is the correct response. However, Doctor, you must remember I am entirely motivated by logic. The loss of our ship’s surgeon, whatever I think of his skill, would mean a reduction in the efficiency of the Enterprise and therefore -” 

McCoy stared in disbelief at the man before him. The contrast between this cold, distant epitome of Vulcanness, and the quiet comfort of the man who had come to his quarters after their experiences on that parallel Enterprise made his anger come rushing back. The sheer idiocy of the pretence that Spock’s current actions  weren’t driven by  a profound fear for Jim.  You didn’t have to be  trained in psychology to see how deeply Spock's affection for his Captain ran.  Where the hell was the logic in denying feelings that were so close to the surface they were probably visible from the goddamn ship?  

He stepped forward, right into Spock’s personal space, and hissed, “Do you know why you’re not afraid to die, Spock? You’re more afraid of living. Each day you stay alive is just one more day you might skip and let your human half peek out. That’s it, isn’t it? Insecurity. Why, you wouldn’t know what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling.” 

The satisfaction in saying such a deliberately provocative, emotional thing to his face was short lived. Spock’s face registered a frightening anger, which was slowly controlled and gradually replaced with a distress and fear so profound that McCoy felt his own heart tighten in sympathy. Then that expression too, was gone, as Spock pulled his neutral, controlled Vulcan mask into place with visible, painful effort.  

After a moment, he said, evenly, “Really Doctor?” 

McCoy took a breath, regretting his outburst. “I know.” He resisted the urge to put an apologetic hand on Spock’s shoulder. “I’m worried about Jim, too.”  

He returned to his corner. After a moment, Spock returned to testing the bars. McCoy made no further comment. 

USS Enterprise

James Kirk mentally sighed to himself as he summarised the events of their last landing party for command. He could tell already that this was going to be one of those reports referred to in sceptical tones for weeks to come. Also, he was starting to suspect that his reports were circulated far more widely than his direct chain of command, if only for entertainment purposes. 

He looked across the desk to say as much to his first officer, who was studying the padd in front of him with his usual complete focus, but the words died in his throat. The feeling that had come over him in the arena had lessened in intensity, but it was still there. Seeing Spock every day didn’t help. There was no chance to chalk the feelings up to intense experience, and move on.  

Perhaps, he thought reluctantly, they should spend less time together off duty. Find ways to occupy their time other than with each other. It wouldn’t be difficult to do and might ultimately be – healthier. Certainly, it would give him time to sort out his feelings, and prevent Spock from picking up on anything – inappropriate. He wondered how he could arrange that without Spock thinking he didn’t want to spend time with him, especially when the very opposite was the case.  

He said, hesitantly, “Spock.” 

The Vulcan looked up enquiringly. Kirk wondered what it was about the lighting in his quarters that seemed to emphasise Spock’s cheekbones, and if there was anything he could do to adjust it.  

He said, “I was, er, I was thinking I should probably spend a bit more time with Bones. This week. He’s feeling a bit down after his leave on Earth got cancelled.” 

Spock nodded slowly. “I had observed a minor increase in the doctor’s irascibility three point four standard weeks ago. I understand that he had deemed it pointless to travel as his daughter would not be available for the visit. He has, however, seemed - to utilise a human expression - more himself of late.” 

“Yeah, well, you know Bones. He, er, he doesn’t always let you know what he’s feeling.” 

There was a silence whilst they separately assessed this as an accurate description of Leonard McCoy’s general demeanour.  

Kirk said hastily, “Anyway, I’ll be spending more off duty time with him. Just letting you know.”  

Spock considered this for a moment. “That is convenient Captain, as I will be able to devote more time to our current review of the effectiveness of the lab’s equipment.”  

Kirk smiled in relief. “Oh, that’s good.” It was a contrary impulse that made him add, “You won’t - miss me then?” 

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “I will see you every day on the bridge.”  

Kirk laughed uncomfortably. “Yes. Of course, you will.” He picked up his padd again. Getting Spock to agree to spend time apart had been easier than he’d expected.  

He refused to examine why that thought hurt. 

Spock watched his Captain across the desk. He had the vague impression that he had said something wrong, but was unclear as to what that might be. Kirk had made a suggestion and he had pointed out the potential flaws and advantages of it. And they had ultimately agreed. This was, at least for the most part, how their conversations usually went.  

He reviewed the exchange. As he was doing so, it occurred to him that, of the many features of human illogic he had initially struggled with, their tendency to suggest items for agreement in the hopes that the other party would refuse or at least object, ranked high on the list.  

But Jim did not habitually engage in such irrationality. His statements tended to be straightforward in intent. Therefore, it was logical to assume that this statement was also.  

However, he himself had experienced a flare of disappointment at the thought of spending less time with Jim. Perhaps Jim had experienced a similar sensation. Maybe some emotional reassurance would be – appropriate?  

He watched the light play over his captain’s hair as Jim read. No. He was reading too much into a simple statement. Jim was entitled to spend his off-duty time however he chose. And if he chose not to spend it with his first officer, well, Spock’s off-duty life on the Enterprise had been quieter before Kirk’s appointment as Captain. Before Jim, he had enjoyed solitude, quietness. He could certainly learn to do so again.  

He repressed the small stab of pain that thought evoked. 

Notes:

Up next: Amanda!

Chapter 15: The Family You Choose

Summary:

Scene set after the Ultimate Computer.

Scenes set during and after Journey to Babel.

Scene set during By Any Other Name. 

Notes:

Hello you lovely people. Thank you so, so much for the continuing interest in this fic. I've lost faith in my writing a bit, so the fact that you are still reading and letting me know that you are enjoying it is just amazing, thank you!

Beta work again by the glorious manekikat, who is keeping me sane! All remaining mistakes mine.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

To McCoy’s credit, it was two days before he noticed, but three before he said anything.  

Kirk had just settled himself -uninvited -on the other side of McCoy’s desk when the doctor cleared his throat.  

“What’s he done?” 

“Who?” 

“Spock.” 

Kirk immediately looked defensive. “What do you mean? He hasn’t done anything.”  

“Okay. But I can’t help noticing you’re here. Again. For the third night in a week. And Tuesday night is chess night and I know you aren’t about to ask me for a game, so I say again – what’s he done?”  

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. “And I told you. Nothing. I’m just – giving him some space. Bad enough he has to take orders from an illogical human every day without spending all his off duty time with one too.”  

“Uh-huh. And this is just occuring to you now. Three years into our mission.”  

“Better late than never.” 

“Horseshit. Spock has never had a problem taking orders from you, or spending all his off duty time with you, and you know it. He’d walk through fire for you, logic be dammed. And if you think otherwise you’re not half the judge of character I thought you were.”  

After a beat, Kirk said, a little defensively, “I don’t think otherwise.” 

“Well then. My question stands.” 

Kirk said, and his tone was a little hurt, “If you want me to go, you just have to say.” 

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Nice try, but you haven’t answered the question.”  

“I told you – I just-“ he broke off, rubbed his forehead tiredly. “I’m trying to give us both some space, okay? You of all people should understand that. Five years is a long time to be in each other's pockets.” 

McCoy was watching him closely. As often happened with his friend, Kirk felt like he was seeing more than Jim was willing to admit. But to his relief, when McCoy spoke, it was simply to nod and say slowly, “I guess that’s fair enough.”  

Kirk shifted in his seat, as the silence following McCoy’s remark stretched on. He had a feeling that the doctor was quite deliberately waiting to see if he would say any more.  

After a long moment, McCoy said, “But before we change the subject, I’d like to offer this for your consideration.” 

Kirk stared at him as he continued, “Yesterday, Spock met the most advanced computer that anyone has ever produced. An area in which he is a renowned specialist. He was looking at that thing like he’d like to marry it. And right up until it malfunctioned, we were obsolete. And don’t tell me you didn’t feel obsolete for a minute there, because we both did. But Spock never believed that, not for a second.” 

Kirk found he couldn’t meet his friend’s direct gaze. McCoy continued, “And you can’t tell me that given a choice between you and that machine, even before it went crazy, Spock wouldn’t choose to be commanded by you. Every time.”  

Kirk said archly, “Actually, I do know that. He – “ He broke off.  

“He what?”  

“He - said so. Even before the machine went rogue.” 

McCoy looked pleased to have been proven right so quickly. “Did he? What did he say?” 

“I – don’t really remember.”  

McCoy stared at him, eyebrows raised. “Since when have you not had an almost eidetic memory?”  

Kirk drew a breath. After a moment he said quietly, “Captain, the ship also runs on loyalty to one man, and nothing can replace it. Or him.”  

McCoy said slowly, “Tell me again how he feels hanging out with you is a hardship?”  

Kirk regarded the dent in the edge of McCoy’s desk before saying deliberately, “I have got work to do, if you wanted me to-“ He gestured towards the door.  

After a moment McCoy said lightly, “Don’t be daft. I’m glad you’re here. I could do with someone to vent to.” 

Kirk looked up. “About what?” 

“Did I tell you why I’m not seeing Joanna on my leave?” 

Kirk immediately looked concerned. “No. She’s alright, isn’t she?”  

McCoy said archly, “Oh she’s fine. In fact, she’s going to be on holiday. With her boyfriend.” He was immediately gratified to see the look of alarmed disapproval that came over Kirk’s face.  

He pointed to his friend. “My thoughts exactly.” 

Standard orbit of planet Vulcan, Stardate: 6257.83 (Terran calendar: 9th September 2267)

Amanda was using every ounce of reserve learned over more than three decades as the wife of a Vulcan diplomat to resist the urge to lean forward in her seat. Her husband was sitting opposite her, his back to the approaching starship, as unaffected as if this was any other day in their schedule. Even after all these years, Amanda was almost unable to believe his entire lack of anticipation. She shifted in her seat, and sighed, waiting for the telltale silver to appear beyond the pilot through the cockpit window.  

Her husband threw her a look, and she straightened, neutralising her expression.  

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she maintained her air of perfect neutrality for a few more seconds, before sighing, “Four years, Sarek.”  

“Indeed,” her husband said mildly. 

She sighed again. This was a conversation they had had repeatedly in the preceding weeks, and it really felt like something unnecessary to say to a diplomat, but in spite of herself she couldn’t resist adding, “Be nice, Sarek.”  

He raised an eyebrow. “I always maintain a demeanour entirely commensurate with my role.”  

She fixed him with a glare and repeated patiently, “Be nice to your son.” 

Sarek said, a little testily, she thought, “Spock has maintained a position of open defiance to my wishes for eighteen years. He has neither sought, nor apparently desired, my approval or even my acquiescence to his actions in all that time. I doubt that will change today.”  

Amanda pursed her lips. She did not wish to retread this ground, especially with Spock himself so near, but she couldn’t resist adding, “Nonsense. He’s as stubborn as you. He doesn’t ask for your approval because he fears you will not give it, not because he doesn’t want it. As I have repeatedly explained.”  

“And as I have repeated, your son does not suffer the same excess of emotion and lack of logic in this area that you ascribe to him.” 

Amanda huffed a breath. “So we must agree to disagree on the subject again.” She looked pointedly past her husband for her first glimpse of the starship. She had seen the Enterprise before, had even visited when Christopher Pike was in command, but never failed to be impressed with its sheer size and complexity.  

The ship that now had her son as first officer. She felt a glow of maternal pride. Her son, who had succeeded all of his life in being even more Vulcan than those around him, was now the second in command of the most famous vessel in a predominantly human fleet. Proof, to her mind, that her son could have succeeded in any arena of life he had chosen to pursue.  

She became aware, both through their bond, and through her peripheral vision, that she was the subject of her husband’s quiet regard.  

After a moment, he said, “I believe you are correct. Our son could have succeeded in any area to which he devoted himself. It is therefore profoundly disappointing that he chose Starfleet.” 

Why?” The force of the question surprised even Amanda. “He is half human. Why should he not seek to distinguish himself amongst primarily human colleagues?” 

As Sarek opened his mouth to speak, she added sharply, “Or do you regret that he is half human?” 

It took a moment for her import to land, but when it did, he turned to her, wide-eyed. It was that, more than anything, that reassured her even before he spoke. When he did speak, a long moment later, his voice was low, but barely level and heartbreakingly sincere. “You are now, and have been since the day of our bonding, the greatest joy and truest touchstone of my life.  

“If I have one regret around your lack of Vulcan ancestry, it lies only in the relative shortness of your lifespan in comparison to my own. I cannot contemplate a world without you with any equanimity or application of logic. The thought is terrifying beyond words.”  

Amanda stared at him, tears pricking behind her eyes. It was rare – vanishingly rare – for her husband to speak to her on such terms, even within their bond. She opened her mouth to say – something, when a flare of silver behind him caught her eye.  

The Enterprise

James Kirk pulled irritably at the neck of his dress uniform. He couldn’t decide whether he disliked it because the uniform itself was uncomfortable, or because almost everything that happened when he wore it was invariably the least favourite part of his job.  

The door chime sounded and he called, “Come in.” 

Spock entered, and began immediately, “Captain, there is something I must –“  

Kirk stared at him. “Spock.” He gestured to his first officer's standard uniform. “Where’s your dress?”  

“I was delayed in engineering. I will change imminently, Captain, but I wished to –“ 

“Its the Vulcan Ambassador, Spock. Let’s make imminently now, shall we?” He made a shooing motion towards the door.  

“Yes, Captain. But in regard to the Ambassador, you and I have not spent a great deal of time together recently, and it occurs to me that I have not mentioned –“  

“Spock, feel completely free to take my previous suggestion as an order.” 

“I –“ The Vulcan almost sighed. “Yes, Captain.”  

“Good man.” 

As he left, he nodded to McCoy entering. “Doctor.”  

McCoy spared him a brief, “Hey, Spock,” before turning to Kirk. “I’m gonna find out who designed this uniform and infect them with some hideous disease.” 

“Good morning to you too, Doctor.”  

“Only one more reception this evening, right?”  

“Yes. Then we can have a ceremonial burning of the uniform.”  

“Good. Hey, er, Jim, are we – going to be orbiting Vulcan long?” 

“Just long enough to pick up the ambassador and his party, why?” 

“No reason.” 

“Actually, now that you mention it, I was planning to ask Spock if he wanted a couple of hours to visit his parents before we set off, we can always make it up en route.”  

“Can we? Oh that’s, er, that’s good to know.” 

Amanda stepped neatly out of the shuttle craft beside her husband, and trailed a little behind him as they crossed the hangar bay. Even from a distance, she could see their small welcoming committee at the double doors to the rest of the ship, and the tall figure of her son was not difficult to identify. She couldn’t have stopped the smile that came to her face if it were subject to the disapproval of every living Vulcan.  

The man hear him, in command gold, was clearly Captain Kirk. She was very much looking forward to meeting him. She wondered if Spock was aware quite how often references to his Captain popped up in their correspondence. Certainly more than they had under Christopher Pike. She was interested to find out whether this was a natural byproduct of her son’s promotion, or a particular friendship between himself and James Kirk.

She stepped out of the shuttlebay in time to hear Kirk introduce himself, and her husband’s reply. She beamed at her son as Kirk introduced him, but Spock – quite deliberately she suspected – did not meet her eye, contenting himself with a formal, “Vulcan honours us with your presence. We come to serve.” 

Even Sarek directing his reply to Kirk couldn’t spoil her buoyant mood. Kirk introduced his Chief Medical Officer, then Sarek introduced his wife. She stepped forward, as was their custom, and touched her fingers lightly to his, directing a warm smile at Spock’s Captain.  

He smiled at her in turn, but she didn’t miss his eyes widening in slight surprise. He wasn’t expecting me, she thought with interest. What did he expect Spock’s human mother to  look like?  

Kirk offered a tour of the ship with Spock as a guide, an idea which seemed excellent to Amanda, but was immediately quashed by Sarek. However, she didn’t have time to react to her husband’s obstinacy, as to her bemusement, Kirk turned a fond smile on her son and said, “Mister Spock, we’ll leave orbit in two hours. Would you care to beam down and visit your parents?” He was looking affectionately at Spock with the air of man unveiling a pleasant surprise, and Amanda felt fonder of him even as she bit her lip to keep from smiling. An awkward silence fell over the group as all eyes turned to Spock, to which only Kirk seemed oblivious. Even Sarek eyed him with surprise. 

Amanda found herself only a little taken aback that Kirk did not already know the identities of Spock’s parents. As a child, Spock had had an entirely unwanted level of minor celebrity from birth. Not only as the sole half human Vulcan on the planet, but as the son of the Ambassador to Vulcans closest alien allies. He had grown up guarding his privacy very closely, a habit that had persisted into adulthood. She looked to her son with interest.  

Spock, for his part, appeared to be trying to convey both apology and information, as he said carefully, “Captain, Ambassador Sarek and his wife are my parents.”  

Next to Kirk, the man who had been introduced as his Chief Medical Officer concealed an abrupt laugh by dint of a polite cough.  

Kirk himself stared at Spock for a long, silent moment before turning back to Amanda and Sarek. Amanda gave him her most encouraging smile. Her husband merely raised an eyebrow.  

To his credit, Kirk recovered quickly. “Right, well, that’ll save us some time then. We'll just take on some supplies and get underway. Ambassador, Mrs Sarek – won’t you come this way?”  

Amanda didn’t miss the look Kirk shot her son as they moved away. She had a feeling Spock would be hearing about this  later. In response, Spock murmured, “I shall - attend to my duties in Engineering, Captain.”  

They had almost reached their assigned quarters before Amanda noticed that the small group escorting them no longer contained the Enterprise's CMO.  

Temple Complex of Mount Seleya, Vulcan  

Leonard McCoy stared up at the soaring facade of the main entrance to Mount Seleya's temple complex, and immediately regretted not calling ahead. Assuming he could even get in, he had no idea where to go.  

Surprising T'Rena with a visit was starting to feel like the height of hubris.  

He sighed to himself and joined the back of a group of silent Vulcans passing through the nearest archway, and stared around in the vain hope that some kind of map might appear and make his life easier.  

There was a slow movement of robed people in and out, and a general air of almost disturbingly reverent silence. McCoy felt like his Starfleet dress blues were screaming his sense of being out of place to everyone he passed. But locating the library couldn’t be too difficult. It was one of the most renowned in existence, visited by scholars from all over the quadrant, so surely it wouldn’t be hard to find.  

He frowned at what was a clearly a sign. A sign, his tricorder informed him, that was not only in Vulcan, but high Vulcan. It offered him this information with an air of self congratulation at its own cleverness. What it didn’t offer him, however, was any kind of translation. He stared at it in disgust. A low voice behind him made him jump.  

“Are you in need of assistance?” To his relief, the universal translator was functioning much better than his tricorder. 

McCoy turned. There was a well built Vulcan in some kind of uniform behind him, looking quite spectacularly unwelcoming. He reminded McCoy of the guards who had accompanied T'Pau at Spock’s koon-ut-kalifee. He swallowed,  decided not to take the man’s forbidding expression amiss, and assayed a hopeful smile.  

“Well, I hope so. I’m, er, I’m looking for the library.” 

“Which library do you seek?” 

“There’s more than one?” 

The man’s expression became even more glacial. “There are four.” 

“Four. Okay. Is there one which specialises in xenobiological research?”  

“Do you have an appointment?” 

“Erm. Not as such. No.” 

“Then you must return to your place of origin and request one. Uninvited guests are not permitted inside the temple complex.”  

“Ah. Right. Actually, I’m only here very briefly, I just wanted to meet with –“ 

“You must,” the man intoned again, “return to your place of origin.” He had taken a step closer. Before his conscious mind could intervene, McCoy had taken a step back.  

“Right you are, my friend. But I have come quite a long way, perhaps if you could just get a message to one of your researchers –“ his voice tailed away. The man’s face was a picture of disapproval, and said quite plainly how the next few minutes were going to unfold, and none of them involved Leonard McCoy seeing anyone inside the temple. Or even remaining on Vulcan.  

T'Sha'al nodded in the general direction of passing colleagues as she walked, resisting the urge to rub at her arm. There would be an impressive bruise  later without the intervention of a dermal regenerator. As it was, she could feel a vivid mark  forming, the product of a momentary loss of attention, that would not, she hold herself firmly, be repeated. She had been somewhat neglectful of her own rest periods lately, due to an unexpectedly busy period, and this was the result.  

Strictly speaking, she should now report to a colleague for healing, but she wanted to rest, and did not see the logic in bothering a colleague for something that could so easily be done herself. She passed quickly through the western atrium and through to the heart of the temple complex. There was a larger than usual number of people around, but T'sha’al avoided them easily. She knew every space and stone of this place, and every mind that dwelled there, and they, and the occasional guest, were easy for her to locate and avoid.  

She was passing the entrance to the outer hall, when something strange called itself to her attention, and she slowed. A mind that did not belong to the temple, and had no Vulcan discipline. This in itself was not unusual – non telepathic races visited the temple with relative frequency – but this mind was oddly familiar.  

She halted, searching her own memories for the corresponding sensation. It did not take long to recall.  

She turned her steps towards the location of the mind in question, and focussed some of her own mental attention on her sister.  

T'Rena  

There was no response. 

T'Rena  

There was a moment’s reluctance - T'Rena was obviously deep in thought – then the response came. Yes, T'sha’al?  

Are you expecting a visitor,  pi'kokai 

Of course not, T’Sha’al.  Her sister's mental voice was just slightly irritated. Clearly, she had been in the middle of a complex text.  

T'Sha’al sent back innocently, Ah. I shall allow Doctor McCoy to be ejected then.  

What? Le- Doctor McCoy is here? At the temple?   

Yes. Although not for much longer. He does not have an appointment, apparently. T'Sha’al quickened her step.  

I wasn’t expecting - I mean, if he doesn’t - he’ll be asked to leave.  

That is what is happening, I believe.  Anxiety and disappointment echoed loud and clear through T’Sha’al ’s mind. She added,  Unless you would like me to intervene?   

Please, T'Sha’al. Do you  – do you think I should come-?     

T’Sha’al repressed an amused mental sigh.  

Yes, I think you should. I will bring him to the healer's courtyard.  

Right. Yes. I will be there presently.   

T'Sha’al crossed the entrance hall quickly and stopped a little to left of the doctor who was endeavouring – with a predictable lack of success – to persuade Sorak, one of their more forbidding security personnel, that his presence at the temple was justified.  

“Doctor McCoy?” 

Sorak was the first to see her, and executed a swift, reverential bow, murmuring “Honoured Healer T'Sha’al.” She turned a look of quiet affection in his direction. She was well aware that Sorak admired her, had done so since the untimely death of his wife three years earlier, when she had been instrumental in ensuring he survived his ensuing pon farr. She was also grateful for the effort he made to conceal his affection from her. She made a mental note to ensure his on duty time coincided with that of one of the temple’s newest librarians. In her professional estimation, their minds had a promising level of compatibility. All this ran rapidly through her mind and was just as quickly compartmentalised as she turned towards the doctor.  

He had recognised her with open relief. “Healer T'Sha’al. It’s a pleasure to see you.” 

She inclined her head. “Likewise, doctor.” She turned again in Sorak's direction. “Sorak, this is Doctor Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the starship Enterprise and Fellow of the Terran College of Surgeons. He is working on a xenobiological research project with my sister.”  

The Vulcan immediately bowed his head again, this time to McCoy, and said, in hesitant, heavily accented standard. “Doctor Leonard McCoy. Welcome to the Temple Complex of Mount Seleya. May you find what you seek, and leave in peace.”  

McCoy looked back to him, and nodded hesitantly. “Er...thank you. Likewise, obviously.” 

The big Vulcan blinked.  

T'Sha’al said in quiet amusement. ”Please come this way, Doctor.” She turned and led the way unerringly out of the entranceway and into the heart of the temple complex.  

As soon as they were out of sight of the entrance, McCoy began, “Healer –“ 

She interrupted him quickly. “Please, Doctor, call me T'Sha’al.” 

“Then you must call me Leonard. Thank you for the rescue. I’m terribly sorry to have turned up unannounced. It was a last minute –“ 

She waved this away quickly. “Please don’t concern yourself, you are most welcome here. My sister will be pleased to return the favour of a tour of her home.” 

He said casually, “T’Rena is - here? “ 

“She will be with us shortly.” She added, with professional interest, “May I enquire - is S’chn T’gai Spock well?” 

McCoy said firmly, “Very well indeed, ma’am. You worked a wonder there.” 

She almost smiled. “You are too generous. Spock's mental discipline is excellent and his mind resilient. The work was not difficult. And I’ve no doubt that your ongoing care keeps him in excellent health. I understand his job is a dangerous one, and his physiology unique.”  

They had passed deeper into the temple, and even the few people who had been around them earlier had dispersed. All the same, McCoy kept his voice low to match hers as he said, “He does keep me on my toes, ma'am, I won’t deny it.  When it comes to putting himself in unnecessary danger, he’s as bad as his Captain.” He added irritably, “Between the two of them, they’re turning me grey.”  

She turned towards him with amused affection on her face, and it occured to him that this would be a difficult woman to fool. He looked away, and stared around him as they walked. This place was fast overturning his preconceptions about Vulcan. He’d only visited twice - once a brief stop on the way to somewhere else, and once for Spock’s aborted wedding ceremony. Each occasion had confirmed his overall vague impression of oppressive heat, stark decoration, impressive technology, and a lot of sand. Walking quietly through the temple next to T'Sha’al, he was seeing a very different Vulcan. The temperature here was relatively cool, the walls were richly carved and decorated, what technology there was, was well concealed, and there wasn’t a speck of sand in sight.  

He had noticed that everyone they saw in this section of the temple nodded to T'Sha’al as they passed, a gesture that struck him as odd, given that she wouldn’t be able to see it. But clearly the reputation that had preceded her aboard the Enterprise was well deserved, if the respect she was accorded here was any guide. Some even nodded to McCoy as well, as if being accompanied by her was enough to grant him respect by association.  

She led them up a stone staircase, along a corridor, and up another staircase. Her ability to find her way with total accuracy and without once reaching to check her surroundings was, to McCoy’s eyes, nothing short of miraculous.  

He said with studied casualness, “Have you lived here long, ma’am?” 

“Since I was a child. As has T’Rena. We have barely known anywhere else.” They had reached a ornately carved door. She pushed it open, and McCoy gaped. Beyond was a beautiful courtyard, open to the sky. Above them soared a peak which he could only assume was Mount Seleya itself, but it was the ground before them that drew the eye. Flowers filled every available space other than the paths amongst them, fed by a quietly flowing fountain at the centre, which watered their beds and provided a gentle, unobtrusive soundtrack to the space.  

T’Sha’al, who had given him a moment to stare, led the way carefully along a path, to a seating area, surrounded by beautifully fragrant flowers, the scent of which reminded McCoy vaguely of roses.  

She said, “T’Rena will be here shortly, if you wouldn’t mind waiting.” 

He looked around, and said with all sincerity, “Ma’am, I couldn’t imagine anywhere I’d mind waiting less.” 

She smiled then, a slightly disconcerting sight on a Vulcan, and said, “Do say so to my sister. She is responsible for much of what you see here.”  

“Really?” 

T’Sha’al stepped forward, gesturing to the rose-like plant surrounding them. She looked suddenly, McCoy thought, much younger than her years. “This used to grow near our home. T’Rena planted them here for me as a surprise. I loved their smell as a child.” As if aware that she had shared more than she intended, she stepped back.  

“And now, if you will forgive me, I must rest. My sister will be here shortly.” As she spoke, she raised her hand to shake his in the human manner, and he noticed a red mark on her arm, already deepening to bruise. Automatically, he reached for his medkit.  

“T’Sha’al, your arm is injured. I can-“ 

She blinked in surprise. “Oh. Yes. Please don’t concern yourself. It is – what is the human expression? – an occupational hazard.” She tilted her head. “Leonard, you brought a medkit to a temple of healing?”  

He looked down at the medkit in his hand, and medical tricorder at his side. In retrospect it was possibly a wholly unnecessary professional reflex. “Er, yes. Force of habit, I’m afraid.” He wondered absently what work T’Sha’al did that made serious bruising an occupational hazard.  

She smiled again. “I understand.” She had raised her hand again, and he took it, held it lightly in both of his, said, “Ma’am.” It was the briefest of touches, and T'Sha'al's eyes remained their otherworldly, opaque, sightless orbs, but Leonard McCoy felt as if he had been seen down to his soul. She nodded slowly, then turned and walked away without further comment.  

McCoy waited until he heard the door close, then sank down onto the bench with a long, slow exhale.  

He breathed in the scent of the flowers. Nearby, the fountain flowed quietly. He took a breath. And then another. Apart from the water, the silence was absolute. He gazed up at the peak above him. Intellectually, he was aware that he was surrounded by the largest temple complex on Vulcan, but as far as his senses were concerned, he could have been the only person on the planet. The peace of the place was almost tangible. He felt as if it was sinking into his bones, urging him to relax, to slow down.  

He leaned back against the bench, and closed his eyes, letting his mind drift. When he opened them again, countless minutes later, T'Rena was standing in front of him.  

She looked like she had simply materialised from the nature around her. He had never particularly thought of her as beautiful before – striking, perhaps, charming, kind and extraordinarily intelligent, certainly – but standing there in the sunlight, in the garden she had created, she was suddenly the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. 

She said, a little shyly, “Dif-tor heh smusma, Leonard.” A slight hesitation, then: “Hello.” 

There was a proper response, and he’d learnt it. But his traitorous brain seemed content to stare at her, and not supply the appropriate words. Aware some kind of response was required, the best his mind could muster was: “Hello.”  

When nothing further was forthcoming, she sat next to him on the bench, maintaining a careful distance between them.  

Aware that further contribution of his own was required to the conversation, he said, “T'Rena, I - I'm sorry about dropping in unannounced like this. I didn’t realise we’d have time to stopover.” 

She looked at him seriously. “No apology is necessary. You are most welcome.”  

He smiled at her. “Thank you.”  

She said, “Would you – like a tour of the temple?”  

He looked around them. “Is anywhere nicer than this?” 

T'Rena looked thoughtful. “Well, research scholars would direct you to the libraries. Those who admire great art would send you to the associated museum in the annex. Those for whom our primary purpose is spiritual would send you to the temple itself.” 

He looked at her curiously. “Where would you go?” 

She looked around her. “I am already here.”  

He nodded. “I did wonder, before I came, how anyone could spend their entire life here. I get it now.” 

She gave him that almost smile. “One lifetime here would not be enough. But even so, sometimes I wish –“ her voice trailed away, then she added, “I imagine your life to be - wonderful. Always travelling, seeing new worlds...” 

He smiled in turn. “It has its advantages. I’ve seen things I still can’t quite believe. Sometimes I think that keeping James Kirk and his crew alive might have been what I was born for. But all the same, you do – miss things. Family. Friends. Just - having a home.”  

She nodded slowly. “I can see that. This is my home. T’Sha’al is my family. We have always taken care of each other.” 

He said, curiously, “You’ve been here since you were children?” 

She nodded again. “Yes. T’Sha’al’s abilities become apparent when she was very young. It was agreed that she would be raised here.”  

“And you?”  

T'Rena said simply, “She was afraid. And I did not wish her to go. Before she mastered her abilities, I was frequently her sight. It seemed – logical – that we should go together.”  

“So you’ve spent your entire life here – to keep your sister company?”  

Her gaze turned a little defensive. “It is a privilege to live here.” 

He said hastily, “Of course. I’ve no doubt. But- there wasn’t anything else you wanted to do?”  

There was a silence, then she said, a little quieter, “When I was little, I often thought I would – travel more.” Then she added firmly, “But this is my home.” 

“And your parents?”  

“Our mother died when was I was born. Our father lives in Shakaar province. He – does not travel.” She said quickly, and McCoy sensed a change of subject would be welcome even before she added, “And – your parents?”  

He said briefly, “Dead.” He added quickly, “I - have a daughter, though.” 

She looked at him in surprise. “You do?”  

“Yes.” He opened his tricorder, changed the display to a picture of Joanna, and handed it across. It was a picture of her on her last birthday, smiling at the camera, and looking as happy as he had ever seen her.  

T'Rena said, with entire sincerity, “She is beautiful.”  

McCoy nodded. “Takes after her mother.”  

T'Rena looked again at the picture. “She very clearly carries your genetic inheritance.”  

McCoy felt his face warm, and said hastily, “She’s smart too. Talking about being a vet.”  

T'Rena said, “Also your genetic inheritance.” Before McCoy could respond, she said, without looking at him, and with almost painful casualness, “And – your wife?” 

“Ex-wife. We married too young. We were - too different. We tried to make it work. For years, but –“ his voice trailed off, and he looked out over the quiet garden.  

T'Rena said quietly, “I am sorry.” 

He managed a smile. “Its better now. We can talk and everything.” He took a breath. “I used to think I’d travel less. Planned to stay on Earth, actually.” 

She looked at him in surprise. “What happened?”  

“Divorce, mostly. And Jim Kirk. He was quite determined to get me on a ship. And I realised – there might be more out there than I thought.” 

T’Rena said thoughtfully, “Captain Kirk demands the best for his ship. Therefore your presence would have been a priority.”  

McCoy shifted, embarrassed. “Well, I don’t know about that.”  

“I am certain of it.” 

“Well, thank you.” McCoy was now fairly certain he was blushing, so he looked away from her, to the fountain. “Your sister is lucky to have you.” 

“She rarely needs me now. Only for occasions such as our visit to the Enterprise. And not really, even then.” She sounded, to McCoy’s ears, a little sad.  

He said warmly, “Your work is brilliant. You’d be welcomed with open arms at any research centre or institute of education in the galaxy.”  

It was T'Rena's turn to blush. She said, with a shy, almost-smile, “That is very generous. And especially meaningful coming from you. Thank you.”  

“It’s true.” McCoy looked directly at her, and caught her eye, so she would have no room to doubt his sincerity. “You’re brilliant. Don’t sell yourself short.”  

This time, she didn’t look away, but held his gaze for a moment, as if ascertaining his veracity. Whatever she found must have pleased her, because her expression softened, and the blush returned.  

Leonard McCoy looked at her face in the quiet sunlight and shadows of this extraordinary garden and wondered how he could ever have thought her anything other than the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  

Past a throat that was suddenly dry, he said, quietly, uncertainly, “T’Rena-“ before realising he had no idea where that sentence was going.  

She had turned towards him, her face hopeful, and leaned a little closer to catch his words. If she was human, he’d have been fairly certain what the next move would be. But she was Vulcan, and he had no idea if it would be welcome, or if, given the renown of her sister, he would be setting some kind of record for the shortest time taken to cause a diplomatic incident on a visit to an alien world.  

Before he could reach any kind of conclusion on this point, a harsh, unwelcome, all too familiar chirrup sounded through the almost silent space and they both jumped.  

He muttered, “Dammit, I’m sorry,” and fumbled for his communicator. He detached the offending device from his belt as it emitted another, too-loud, chirrup. “I need to –“  

She nodded. “Of course.” 

He flipped it open. “McCoy here.” 

“Bones!” Kirk’s voice echoed in the space. “Where the hell are you?  We’re all ready to break orbit, then I find out my CMO has gone walkabout. Would you mind awfully getting your ass back here before I have to explain to a ship full of ambassadors why we’re going to miss our rendezvous?”  

McCoy covered the microphone part of the communicator. “You were right. He really values me.”  

T'Rena raised an eyebrow. Kirk’s voice came again, “Bones!” 

McCoy deadpanned, “I’m a vital member of the team.” 

“Do not make me send security down there.” Kirk was sounding increasingly irritated.  

McCoy eyed T’Rena seriously. “A crucial cog in the wheel.” She looked as if she was genuinely trying not to smile.  

“Because you know I will.”  

McCoy gestured to the communicator with his free hand. “James Kirk, my esteemed Captain.” T'Rena was now biting her lip.  

Bones!” 

McCoy raised the communicator to his face. “Alright, Jim, don’t bust a blood vessel.”  

There was no response, but over the open comm channel he heard Kirk instructing the transporter room. He said, reluctantly, “I’m sorry, I have to-“ 

T'Rena interrupted quickly, “Please do not concern yourself. And – do visit again. I can show you the temple properly. And the library.” 

McCoy smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.” He rose, and she rose with him. “Damn. I wanted to tell you about –“ 

“You may call at any time-“ 

“Right. Yes. I will.” 

“Goodbye, Leonard.” 

“’Bye, T’Rena. Live long and prosper.” 

She did smile then, a tiny, almost unnoticeable movement of her lips. “Peace and long life, Leonard.”  

Then, so quickly he had no time to react, she stepped forward, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and drew back, as the hum of the transporter filled the small space. 

To Amanda’s delight, when they reached Engineering on their tour, Spock was still there. She let Kirk and her husband move ahead, and sidled over to her son. She had no doubt at all he was aware of her every move, but like the good officer he was, he didn’t acknowledge her presence until she addressed him directly. After taking a moment to simply observe him, and noting with pleasure that he looked well, she adopted an exaggerated air of faux disappointment, she said, “After all these years among humans, you still haven’t learned to smile.” 

Spock glanced across at her, and the expression in his eyes warmed her heart, even as he said, with an air of reprimand, “Humans smile with so little provocation.”  

Amanda said, but she couldn’t manage to inject a great deal of censorship in her tone, “And you haven’t come to see us in four years, either.” 

Spock said, and to her ears his tone sounded a little sad, “The situation between my father and myself has not changed.”  

She was about to respond, when Sarek's voice interrupted them. She gave Spock an apologetic ‘later’ look, and was about to leave him, when Kirk called for her son. They moved together to where Kirk and Sarek were waiting, and Kirk said encouragingly to Spock, “Explain the computer components.”  

She silently blessed him for the effort, even as Sarek, predictably, said repressively, “I gave Spock his first instruction in computers, Captain. He chose to devote his knowledge to Starfleet instead of the Vulcan Science Academy.”  

Kirk did not have Amanda’s long years of experience at hiding her reactions, and she saw the look of irritated disbelief he shot her husband as Spock took his leave. But he covered quickly, and apologised politely. 

Sarek also took his leave, clearly feeling he had humoured Kirk’s desire to show off his ship for long enough, and well aware that his wife liked to spend time with any colleague of her sons.  

Kirk turned to her immediately, exhaling his frustration. “Mrs Sarek, I just don’t understand.”  

She said quickly, “Amanda.” Then added lightly, “I’m afraid you couldn’t pronounce the Vulcan name.”  

He shot her a smile, and she realised that her son’s Captain had a not inconsiderable amount of personal charm to accompany his natural air of authority. He said, “Can you?”  

She smiled back. “After a fashion, and after many years of practice. Shall we continue the tour? My husband did request it.” 

Kirk said dryly, “It sounded more like a command.”  

She noticed that Kirk was not easily forgiving Sarek's treatment of Spock. It made her oddly grateful on her son’s behalf and defensive on her husband’s. She said, a little archly, “Of course. He’s a Vulcan. I’m his wife.” 

Her suspicion as to the origin of Kirk’s irritation was confirmed as he said pointedly, “And Spock is his son.”  

“You don’t understand the Vulcan way, Captain.” He had not invited her to call him James, and she did not presume. “Its logical. It’s a better way than ours.” Kirk expression said he had his doubts on that point. She acknowledged, “But it’s not easy. It has kept Spock and Sarek from speaking as father and son for eighteen years.”  

Kirk looked to the door by which Spock had exited, and said, with a heartfelt simplicity that made Spock’s mother want to hug him, “Spock is my best officer, and my friend.”  

He so clearly wanted to put things right between her son and her husband, and was frustrated at his inability to do so, that Amanda regarded him with grateful surprise. She had not expected, upon meeting her son’s new Captain, to find an ally in her eighteen year quest to effect a rapprochement between Sarek and Spock.  

She said sincerely, “I’m glad he has such a friend.” She was not in the habit of sharing personal details about her son with anyone, let alone such a brief acquaintance, but something in Kirk’s manner made her say quietly, “It hasn’t been easy on Spock. Neither human nor Vulcan.” His eyes found hers as she added, “At home nowhere except Starfleet.”  

Kirk’s expression told her she had chosen her ally well. He said, “Spock told me he disagreed with his father on a choice of career.” His tone indicated what he thought of Sarek’s attitude.  

Amanda said protectively, “My husband has nothing against Starfleet. But Vulcans believe that peace should not depend on force.” 

Kirk said firmly, “In Starfleet force is used only as a last resort. We're an instrument of civilisation.” He clearly couldn’t resist adding, “And it's a better opportunity for a scientist to study the universe than he can get at the Vulcan Science Academy.” 

Amanda inclined her head slightly, “Perhaps. But Sarek wanted Spock to follow his teachings, as Sarek followed the teachings of his own father.” 

Kirk gave another huff of frustration. “They are both stubborn.” 

She twinkled at him. “A human trait, Captain?”  

The look in his eyes told her that he too was imagining how Spock and Sarek would react to such an accusation, and he grinned.  

But before he could respond, there was a whistle from the bridge, and he excused himself reluctantly. Amanda watched him go with interest. James Kirk was not only her son’s commanding officer, but very obviously his friend.  

So at least one question had been answered.  

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 6274.97 (Terran calendar: 11th September 2267)

Amanda was sitting quietly at her husband’s beside when his aide, Selen, entered sickbay, and walked across to them.  

Sarek straightened and contrived to look neutral, although Amanda could tell he was itching to know what Selen had to say. In the twenty-four hours since his operation, Sarek had been reluctantly acquiescing with the tag team of his wife and doctor who were preventing him from doing anything more strenuous than sitting and breathing, but his recovery was continuing to be promising, and he was starting to make pointed comments around the lack of effort required to read diplomatic briefs.  

Amanda eyed Selen severely. “Sarek is still recover-“ 

Sarek interrupted her gently. “I requested his presence. He has nothing more alarming to impart than a brief summary of the last days events.” 

Amanda switched her severe stare to her husband. “Ten minutes, Sarek. No more.”  

He said meekly, “Yes, my wife.”  

She swept her stare back to Selen who nodded in hasty agreement.  

She rose with a pointed sigh and walked to the door. “I shall wait outside until you are finished.”  

True to her word, she stood outside the door to the private room, as a murmured rapid-fire conversation in Vulcan began behind her, truncated quickly by the closing door. 

The door to Doctor McCoy’s office was open, and the man himself was behind his desk, dictating quietly to his computer. Some sort of report, she imagined. She was about to take a step towards him – there was no such thing as too many updates on her husband’s condition – when the murmur of a familiar voice drew her attention.  

She turned. In another corner of sickbay, partially hidden by the entrance to Sarek’s room, her son was seated next to a biobed, talking in low tones to his captain.  

James Kirk was sitting up, and looking, she noted with approval, a much better colour than he had been the previous day. 

She leaned against the wall, and watched them talk. They sat together like two men entirely comfortable in each other's company, the ease of the back and forth between them obvious even to someone who had only known Kirk a matter of days. Even with his Vulcan reserve in place, Spock looked as at ease, and as happy, as she had ever seen him. She found a slow smile creeping over her face as she watched them.  

There was a padd between them, which was obviously the subject of the current conversation, as Kirk would intermittently gesture to it. On one such occasion, he gestured a little too enthusiastically, and winced, his hand flying immediately to his side. Spock looked instantly concerned and even from this distance she could see the words Doctor McCoy form on his lips. 

Kirk shook his head, and made a comment she couldn’t catch, but which was clearly intended to amuse, as he twinkled at Spock expectantly.  

He’s surely not expecting Spock to laugh?  She looked to her son, as his expression changed to one she recognised as barely concealed amusement. Kirk clearly recognised it too, and grinned in response, before looking back to the padd. She looked in delight at her son as his amused look began to fade, and in the brief moment before Vulcan neutrality took its place, and Kirk’s attention was elsewhere, she saw his face soften into an expression she had never seen there before. One that made her smile fade, and her breath catch. Before she could be absolutely certain what she had seen, Spock’s mask of Vulcan reserve was firmly back in place, and he was nodding attentively at something Kirk had said.  

Amanda watched them intently for a few moments more, but there was no repeat. She took a breath, exhaled slowly, and then crossed to them, making more noise than was entirely necessary to advertise her presence. Both men looked up, Spock’s expression became quietly fond, and Kirk broke into a warm smile. “Mrs Sarek.”  

She smiled at her son affectionately, before turning to Kirk. “Hello, Captain. It’s good to see you looking so well.”  

“Call me Jim, please, and I’m much better, thank you. I’d be on the bridge if Bones wasn’t so strict.”  

“Doctor McCoy,” her son said mildly, “is quite correct.”  

Amanda lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Sarek is starting to feel the same. I’ve allowed him a ten-minute briefing from Selen, or I think he’d try to sneak out.” 

Kirk grinned and inclined his head to Spock. “He snuck in. Bones hasn’t noticed yet, or he’d have kicked him out.” 

Spock said censoriously, “I did not sneak.” 

Kirk grinned at him. “Yeah, you did. And you haven’t spoken above a murmur since you sat down. I’d bet a year’s leave Bones doesn’t know you’re here.” 

There was no response, and Kirk raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Spock said, with clear reluctance, “He does not.”  

Amanda laughed as Kirk did likewise. The affection between this human and her son was obvious, and she was intensely glad of it. All the same, as her gaze drifted back to Spock, and Kirk paid some compliment to his upbringing, she wondered at what she had seen. Surely, surely, she had been wrong in her immediate reaction. Perhaps tiredness and an excess of emotion over the last few days had taken its toll. That must be it. Because otherwise the only conclusion was one she was struggling to wrap her head around.  

Her son was in love with his Captain.  

It took her two days to get Spock on his own. Sarek was still – to his barely concealed chagrin – in sickbay. The utter lack of medical merit that Sarek’s rank and position gave him in the eyes of the Enterprise’s CMO was a quiet source of amusement to his wife. She had comforted Sarek with the obvious fact that Doctor McCoy’s attitude to all his patients – up to and including his Captain – was exactly the same, but to no avail. And Spock’s position clearly kept him busy, but she had eventually prevailed upon Kirk to ensure her son’s availability to spend time with his mother, which he had done with impressive speed.  

And so she was sitting in Spock’s quarters, having enjoyed a rare and lovely meal with her son. Spock’s quiet comfort and contentment aboard the Enterprise was an ongoing source of joy to his mother, and she said, suddenly seized with the feeling, “I’m so proud of you.”  

Spock raised a gentle eyebrow at her as she added, “Oh, I know. It’s not logical. But I can’t tell you how pleased it makes me to see you so - settled, and yes, I’m going to say it – happy.”  She waved a hand a him, “Oh don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you if you’re happy. Besides,” she twinkled at him fondly, “I don’t need to.”  

He had raised another eyebrow to join the first, but his lack of contradiction to her statements was all the confirmation she needed. He said mildly, “You are right. It is not logical.” 

She fixed him with a wry smile, and his eyes glittered affectionately back at her.  

Resisting the urge to put her tongue out at him – an action which had produced amusingly horrified Vulcan outrage from him as a child - she said, “Oh, I almost forgot. Your father wanted me to ask you –“  

She broke off at a slight tightening of his expression. She said gently, “He worries about you, you know.” 

Her son said firmly, “It would be illogical for him to do so.”  

“Yes. Because he has no significant history in the acting illogically department.” She gave her son a wry smile and was gratified to see his look of suppressed amusement.  

“Anyway,” she continued, “we were wondering – and obviously, it’s entirely your business, darling – but,” she continued hastily, “you will need to find a new bondmate at some point, and Sarek is keen to identify suitable candidates. I have pointed out to him that it isn’t thirty years ago, and you are quite capable of making your own decisions these days, although, if you’d like him to –“ she broke off.  

After a charged moment of silence, he said, “You are correct. I would like to – make my own choice.”  

She nodded quickly, “Well, that’s settled then. I’ll tell your father.” After a moment, she added, with a small smile, “I don’t suppose – you have anyone in mind? Anyone,” she gestured around them, “on the ship, for example?” She raised her eyebrows at him, teasingly, and he fixed her with a chastising, if slightly amused, expression.  

“That would be most inappropriate.”  

“Ah.”

After a moment, a long suppressed sense of guilt made her add, “Spock, I - I am sorry about T'Pring. We weren’t told much, just that your engagement was broken off, but she was our choice and, oh darling, I’m so sorry.”  

To her surprise, her son didn’t seem even remotely distressed by the reference to his former fiancée. Instead, he said gently, “The circumstances which arose in relation to the breaking of my bond with T'Pring could not have been foreseen by anyone at the time that it was made. You are not at fault.”  

He sounded so genuine, and so undisturbed by the conversation, she was emboldened to say, “You were – alright, weren’t you? After, I mean –“ her face creased in distress, “we weren’t told anything other than that you were fine and we shouldn’t worry, and I know you wrote, but you were on your own, and I wanted to come –“ she broke off, aware that her voice had started to tremble, and took a steadying breath.  

Her son reached across the table and laid a gentle hand on her lower arm. “Mother. Do not distress yourself. I was not alone, and I am, as you see, very well.”  

She nodded, then took a breath, and said, “Was – was Jim – with you?”  

He withdrew his hand and said quietly, “Captain Kirk was most supportive.”  

Amanda nodded. “I’m glad.” She waited for him to say something more, and when he didn’t, she said lightly, “It – It seems like the two of you – get on very well.” 

“We are widely acknowledged as a most effective command team.” 

“Yes, so your father has informed me, but I meant - on a personal level. As friends.” 

“Captain Kirk has told me on a number of occasions that he is generous enough to consider me a friend.” 

“Well, that’s - nice of him. And do you consider him – a friend?”   

He said, stiffly, “He is, primarily, my commanding officer, but – yes. I do.”  

“Well. Good. That’s good.” Amanda didn’t need Vulcan telepathy to know that her son was uncomfortable with the current subject. She sighed to herself. It seemed like she would not be getting any further information this evening.  

She tilted her head, trying to catch her son’s eye again, and when she did, she smiled, and was pleased to see his expression relax once more.  

She sighed, and rose reluctantly. “I suppose I should go and see your father before he executes some kind of jailbreak.”  

Spock rose with her. “Father has been subjected to three uninterrupted days of the company of Doctor McCoy. His forebearance thus far is remarkable.” 

Amanda looked at him in amused surprise. “Spock! He saved Sarek’s life.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Which does not make his wilful lack of logic at any other time more excusable.” 

She stared at him for a moment longer, then burst into laughter. “Goodness, you sounded like your father then.”  

Spock said archly, “I am flattered by the comparison.”  

Amanda’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt tears prick her eyes. Before she could stop herself, she had stepped across to her son and thrown her arms around him, holding him tightly as she hadn’t done since he was a small boy. She expected to be carefully discouraged from this overtly emotional display, but instead, after a moment’s hesitation, she felt arms encircle her gently, and his head rest against her hair.  

She held on, luxuriating in the feel of being able to embrace her son, until she was quite certain she wouldn’t embarrass either of them by walking around the ship crying her eyes out, then withdrew to arm’s length.  

She sniffed, and said lightly, “You know I’m going to tell him you said that.” 

He regarded her fondly. “You may do as you see fit.”  

Deciding to push her luck, she stepped forward and kissed his cheek lightly, and as she withdrew, she said, “Doctor McCoy is talking about letting your father out of sickbay tomorrow. If he does - have dinner with us?”  

He inclined his head. “Of course.” 

She smiled in delight. 

USS Enterprise,  Stardate: 6865.97 (Terran calendar: 2nd December 2267)  

Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Scotty stood in the corner of the rec room, watching their Kelvan captors. Tomar was eating with some gusto, whilst Rojan and Kalinda engaged in sotto voce conversation.  

Spock was saying quietly, “The Kelvans have superior intellectual capacity. To achieve it, they have apparently sacrificed anything which would tend to distract them. Perceptive senses such as taste, touch, smell, and of course, emotions.” 

Kirk said thoughtfully, “But then Tomar shouldn't be enjoying the taste of his food.”  

“Quite correct, Captain. But they have taken human form and are therefore having human reactions.” 

The doctor said dryly, “If he keeps reacting like that, he's going to need a diet.” 

But Kirk’s eyes had lit up with the hope of a solution to their current problem. “If they all respond to stimulation of the senses, then maybe we can distract them. They can't have been able to handle the senses yet. If we can confuse them enough, we can get those devices from their belts.” 

Spock said immediately, “That seems reasonable,” and Kirk knew his first officer’s thoughts had been tending the same way. He flashed him a smile, before saying, “All right. It may be our only chance. Look for any way to stimulate the senses.” 

To his surprise, his Chief Engineer was the first to speak. Scott was eyeing Tamar, with the air of a man sensing a kindred spirit. He said, “I can think of one way right off.” 

Before Kirk could enquire further, Scotty was crossing the room. As he reached Tamar, they heard him say cheerfully, “Lad, you’re gonna need something t'wash that down with. Have you ever tried any Saurian brandy?”  

Kirk nodded approvingly. “Good man.”  

McCoy said dryly, “Can’t help noticing he’s not offering scotch.” 

Spock said censoriously, “One does not get drunk on ‘the good stuff', Doctor.”  

McCoy shot him a look and opened his mouth to respond as Kirk said quickly, “Alright, Bones, what’s your idea?”  

McCoy turned his attention to the Kelvans. After a second, he said “Does Hanar look pale to anyone else? In need of, let’s say, some kind of  stimulant?”  

Kirk's expression was set. “Oh, definitely.” 

McCoy said decisively, “Right. So that leaves Rojan to Spock, and Kalinda to you.” He gave his friend a suggestive grin which Kirk returned with a frown, and said irritably, “Hold on. Why am I taking Kalinda?” 

“Seriously, Captain Honeypot?” 

“Bones, you can’t just - what if Spock wants the opportunity to get under the skin of a beautiful woman?” 

McCoy made a scoffing noise. “Spock doesn’t need to bother with seduction. He’s more than capable of getting under anyone’s skin without any extra effort at all.” 

“Thank you, Doctor.”  

“Anytime, Spock. Though if you plan to try and seduce Rojan, let me know, I think I’d like to see it.”  

“I do not believe that will be necessary.” Spock said easily, with the kind of equanimity that indicated the extra effort required was the only objection to that plan. It was Kirk’s turn to stare. “I imagine the Captain's efforts will be all the assistance I require.” 

Kirk muttered dryly, “So gratified I can help, Mister Spock.” Across the room, Kalinda left Rojan's side and headed for the door. Kirk watched her go and squared his shoulders. “Alright, gentlemen. Let’s do this.”  

USS Enterprise Stardate: 6921.89 (Terran calendar: 10th December 2267)

As their briefing came to an end, Nogura said, somewhat snippily, Kirk thought, “Oh, and you need to tell that first officer of yours that promotions don’t come along every day. I'd appreciate an answer before the goddamn ship actually launches.” 

Kirk narrowly stopped the shock from showing on his face, and instead said neutrally, “I’ll certainly, er, let him know, Admiral.”  

Nogura ended the call with a curt nod, and Kirk exhaled slowly. Spock had been offered a promotion?  

He hadn’t even known one was offered. He frowned at his screen. Maybe they had gone too long without an opportunity to talk off-duty. It might be time to reinstate their regular chess games. Tonight, for example. 

*

As it turned out, thanks to ship’s business, and an absorbing game, it was late into the evening before he said, casually, “I spoke to Nogura today. He told me you were offered a promotion.”  

Spock, who had been eyeing the board with an almost frown, looked up. “That is correct. I was offered the command of a newly commissioned science vessel. I have declined."

Kirk stared in disbelief. “They offered you your own ship? And you said no?”  

Spock, who had turned his attention back to the game, looked up again. “Yes, Jim. As I have indicated.”  

“But, why?”  

Spock blinked. “Because it did not offer any superior opportunities either for the study of new scientific phenomena, or for command, than I already have here.” 

“Right. O-okay. Well, I guess that makes sense.”  

Spock began to elucidate his further reasons for declining the promotion, but Kirk wasn’t listening. He was just taking a moment to bask in the notion that he wasn’t going to lose the best first officer in the fleet. That Spock had been offered a promotion, and turned it down - without even consulting his Captain. That the best command team in the fleet would still be intact. That there would still be chess games, and banter, and Spock’s vital, supportive presence. Spock could have been explaining that the proposed ship was made of cheese, and Kirk wouldn’t have cared.  

He only returned his attention to the game when Spock said, with an air of surprise, “Checkmate.” 

Kirk looked down at the board. He had no clear memory of making his last few moves, and clearly they’d been poor, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He smiled cheerfully at his first officer. “Your game, Mister Spock, well done.” 

The Vulcan inclined his head, and said, “Thank you, Captain. You will not get the opportunity to even the score tonight however, as I must retire.”  

“I’ll get you another night, don’t worry.” Kirk couldn’t keep the smile from his face. Just the knowledge that there would be other nights, that Spock wasn’t leaving, meant he‘d cheerfully lose a hundred games.  

As Spock stood, Kirk rose with him, and stepped around the small table on which their chess set rested. He didn’t feel like he’d said enough to communicate the extent of his relief that he wouldn’t be losing the finest officer under his command.

At his movement, Spock stilled, looking at him in mild curiosity.   

He stood close, reached out, touched Spock’s upper arm, and gripped it tightly. “Spock, I – I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re staying. It – er – it means a lot.”  

He experienced a moment of surprise at himself. He was usually good at this sort of thing. Of the two of them, he really shouldn’t be the one struggling to give voice to his emotions. He tried again, “I just – I just wanted to say – that.” 

As Jim spoke, he watched Spock’s face slip from its usual impassivity, into something - almost tender. The atmosphere between them shifted, as his voice dried.   

Spock said quietly, holding his gaze, “Jim, I would not voluntarily leave the Enterprise whilst she is under your command.”  

Kirk took a quick breath, over a sudden stutter in his chest. He was aware that he needed to respond, but the right words weren’t coming. Spock’s eyes on his were extraordinarily dark and there was unmistakable emotion in their depths.   

He said, painfully aware of its inadequacy, “That’s great, Spock, that’s –“ 

After a long, still moment, Spock said, in that same quiet tone, “Goodnight, Jim.” 

Kirk managed, ‘Goodnight, Spock. Sleep well.’  

Kirk watched as the doors of his quarters slid shut behind the retreating form of his first officer. Then he took a deep breath. And another. That had been - just for a moment – the atmosphere between them had been –   

Jim Kirk considered himself something of an expert in such moments. Both in creating them and in enthusiastically participating. But those charged breaths had come entirely out of the blue, without his conscious intent.   

He turned very slowly back to the chess set, and began to absently replace the pieces to their starting positions.   

Spock was – an extraordinary officer. This far into their mission, it was easy to take his intelligence, knowledge, efficiency and skill for granted, but it was a trap Jim tried not to fall into too often. He was beyond fortunate to have such an individual as his second. It was the highest compliment he could think to pay Spock that he would trust him with the Enterprise should anything happen to her Captain.   

So his relief that Spock had not accepted the proposed promotion had been profound. But in that moment, it hadn’t been all he was feeling.   

He shook his head, suddenly intensely grateful for his first officer’s Vulcan nature. He’d been here before. He thought, suddenly, with a stab of guilt, of Gary. He had endangered, even lost friendships before, on those rare occasions he let his emotions get the better of him.  

It was a comfort to know that could never happen with Spock. Even in the worst-case scenario, even in the highly unlikely event he ignored the chain of command, got roaring drunk and threw himself at the Vulcan, nothing would happen. Spock belonged to a people who only consummated their relationships once every seven years. Even an amorous Jim Kirk couldn’t do anything against biology.   

He smiled to himself as he walked across to the bed, hooked his fingers around the hem of his uniform tunic and drew it over his head in one quick movement. Spock was, for all his occasional Vulcan denial, his friend. The universe had gifted him a friendship that was essentially Kirk-proof. There was nothing he could do, even in his worst excesses of emotion, to drive him away.  

The only threat to a friendship that could be for life, was the life they both led. But he was Spock’s Captain. He could do anything within his power to keep him alive. And, short of sacrificing the Enterprise herself, he would.   

Stripping off his uniform trousers, he threw himself on the bed. There was a marvellous freedom in the knowledge of Spock’s affection for him, and the limits of it. He meant he didn’t have to check himself, to worry that Spock might take a touch, a look, the wrong way, and damage their friendship, or their wonderful working relationship. He smiled to himself. The Enterprise. And a friend for life. Life was good.   

In the weeks and months that followed, he made no attempt to curtail or circumvent his affection for his first officer and closest friend. He indulged himself by occasionally standing too close, touching Spock when it wasn’t entirely necessary to do so, allowing his affection to show in his gaze. Even if, sometimes, it almost crossed the line into flirting, what did that matter? He was safe to indulge himself. Safe in the knowledge that this thing between them could never be ruined or broken.   

For his part, Spock continued to regard his Captain with the same combination of respect, affection, amusement, and occasionally bemusement, as he ever had. And if he sometimes held Kirk's gaze a little longer than necessary, or leaned a little into a touch that lingered, well, then that was only his way of humouring his illogical, all too human, Captain.   

Or so Kirk continued to believe. Until the departure from the Enterprise of the Dohlman of Elas.   

Notes:

Up next:

Duty provides an excuse to meld.

Captain and First Officer have a long overdue conversation.

Kirk forgets his entire life.  

Chapter 16: Paradise Lost

Summary:

Scene set during Spectre of the Gun

Scene set after Elaan of Troyius 

Scenes set during and after the Paradise Syndrome

Notes:

Another massive shout out to the gorgeous manekikat, without whose enthusiasm I would have given this up as a bad job by now! Engagement with this fic has fallen off a cliff a bit lately, which obviously makes me paranoid that everyone is hating it, (despite the fact that the world is crazy right now and everyone is only just keeping their shit together, never mind reading fic! Writers be nuts!) So a HUGE thank you to everyone who has stuck with it in the face of all the distractions and craziness! Sending acres of gratitude and hugs to you all xxxx

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

He would lose his beautiful wife. His family. They had been the fulfilment of a dream: a yearning he had long pushed aside. They were the living visions of another life: one that haunted him in the dark hours of the morning, when he was alone but for the sound of his own breathing and the hum of the engines.   

They would be gone. The only family he had known since the death of his brother: lost. And for what? Duty? His ship? His crew? The lives of thousands of people he would never meet? As he stared around him, he wondered how long this life would keep demanding of him the same, impossible, price.   

A voice beside him interrupted his thoughts. “Dinner’s ready.”   

He took a long breath. Thought of the Enterprise, the crew that waited for their captain, and the lives they might save.  

Jean-Luc Picard looked down at his son, and forced the words past his throat. “Go on. Go on without me.”  

Around him, his family began to fade.   

He turned to his guide. “Guinan, can I leave the Nexus?  

She looked at him curiously. “Where would you go?”  

“I know exactly where I want to go. The mountaintop on Veridian Three, just before Soran destroyed the star. I have to stop it. But I need help.”   

He looked at her directly. “If you were to come back with me, together, we could –“ but she was already shaking her head.   

She said gently, “I can't leave here. I'm there already, remember?” He stared at her in consternation, but before he could speak, she smiled.   

“But I know someone who can.”  

*  

The Nexus    

James T. Kirk placed a log carefully on the stump, swung the axe, and gave a satisfied grunt as it split neatly into two equal parts. He’d definitely got the hang of this log cutting business. Piece of cake. They’d have enough wood for a real fire for a few weeks now. Useful, as the nights were getting colder. He smiled to himself. There were few things he liked better on a cold night than a real fire. Gave a great excuse to cuddle up under blankets, especially since his lover felt the cold so much more as they aged. Cuddling was therefore the logical thing to –  

Kirk frowned. That wasn’t right. Antonia didn’t mind the cold. She was the warmest person he’d ever met. If anything, he cuddled up to her in the chill, not the other way around. He sighed to himself as he reached for another log. He was getting old. His mind was playing tricks on him. Still, they were going to need the logs, even if just for him, so –   

He swung the axe again. He was reaching for a third log, when the figure caught his eye.   

There was a man standing a little way up the hill. Kirk squinted at him. Didn’t look familiar. New neighbour, maybe. The man’s posture was oddly formal for the natural environment around him, and his outfit had a suspiciously uniform look.   

God, I hope he isn’t Starfleet.   The last thing he needed was another retiree in the area, looking to shoot the breeze about the good old days. Antonia wouldn’t be happy either. She hated any reference to his old life.   

The man had started down the hill. Kirk heaved a mental sigh, and turned back to his pile. Maybe, if he looked busy, the stranger would just move along. He reached for another log. As he did so, something whispered in the depths of his mind, and a cold breath touched the back of his neck. He stood again, looked around. The day was warm, and quiet, without a breeze.   

But still, he shivered.   

Someone just jumped on my grave.      

*  

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 7964.21 (Terran  Calendar: 2nd May 2268)  

Leonard McCoy stared at the Captain of the Enterprise across his desk, and said, somewhat irritably, “I thought we’d had this conversation.”   

Kirk looked innocently back. “What conversation?”   

“The one where I pointed out that coming to hang out with me because you’re avoiding Spock for ridiculous reasons is....ridiculous.”  

“Why can’t I just be hanging out with you because I enjoy your company?”   

“Because, and don’t take this the wrong way, Jim, I do occasionally have other things do to than enjoy the pleasure of your company.”   

Kirk made a face like this was the most egregious lie he’d ever heard. “Such as what, exactly?”  

McCoy opened his mouth to make a scathing response, and as if on cue, the intercom buzzed, and Uhura’s voice said cheerfully, “I’ve got T'Rena for you, Doctor.”   

There was silence for a moment, as McCoy contrived to look casual, reaching for the intercom, and saying, “One minute, Nyota, I’m just with the Captain.”  

“Take your time, Doctor, we're just chatting here.” Uhura’s voice disappeared.   

Kirk was frowning. “T'Rena. Why do I know that name?”   

McCoy said, quickly, “She came to the Enterprise. Look, –“  

Comprehension dawned. “I remember. Her sister helped Spock.” He frowned again. “Hold on. That was more than a  year  ago. And you’re still in touch?”   

McCoy was starting to wish he had some of Spock’s Vulcan self-control. “Yes. She’s a superb xenobiologist. Look –“   

Kirk was staring at him in disbelief. “Bones, are you – blushing?”   

McCoy growled. “Don’t be absurd.”  

“Hold on. Hold on one second.” Kirk sat up straighter. “When we picked up Spock’s parents from Vulcan, we nearly left without you. You’d been AWOL for over an hour. You went to see her, didn’t you?”  

McCoy began, “The Temple of Mount Seleya contains the most renowned library –“   

A slow smile began to break across Kirk’s face. “I don’t believe this: you – Leonard Horatio McCoy – you are dating a Vulcan.”   

McCoy said hotly, “I am not.  And I’ll thank you not to imply-“  

“Gee, Bones,” Kirk's face was now an all-out grin. “You’re awfully defensive for someone who isn’t - ”  

“We are colleagues – “   

Kirk stood up. “Of course you are. Well, I'll leave you to your collegiate chat.”   

“Oh, shut up. Where are you off to?”  

“Where do you think? To find Spock.”  

“I thought you weren't -“  

“Doesn’t matter. He’s definitely going to want to hear this.”  

“Dammit Jim, don’t you  dare  -“  

But the still grinning Kirk was already out of the door.   

*  

Melkotian Planet, Stardate: 8114.46 (Terran Calendar: 23rd May 2268)    

Around them, the OK Corral was devoid of life. A desert breeze blew gently past the four Enterprise crewmen as they stood, watching the empty road for any sign of Earp and his men. Spock regarded his human colleagues with concern. They were all struggling with the death of Ensign Chekov. He had long accustomed himself to the human habit of open grief, but the illogic of it in such a situation remained apparent. Either Chekov was truly dead, in which case it would be preferable to remain focussed on the task at hand and delay the distraction of grief until later, lest they follow him. Or Chekov was alive, in which case the grief was unnecessary.   

It was a source of ongoing perturbation to Spock that the person often hardest hit by the death of crewmember seemed to be Doctor McCoy. If anyone should be long accustomed to deaths in service, it was the CMO of a starship. But for all his acerbic front and often casual demeanour, there was always a marked increase in the doctor’s flagrant emotionality following a death amongst the crew. It was as if he regarded it as both a personal and professional failure on his part. This was a prime example of the illogic of the man. Spock had never once, in their years of service together, observed even one occasion when a death had been due to any action, or inaction, on the part of Leonard McCoy. Quite the contrary, in fact. He had saved far more lives during his tenure on the Enterprise than mere competence would deem probable. And yet he persistently reacted to each one as if it were the death of a dear friend. It was most illogical.   

Even Engineer Scott, for all his practicality and common sense, had been hit hard by the loss of Chekov. Only his Captain, after a brief moment of indulgence, had rallied enough to set his feelings to one side, and address the problem at hand.   

Kirk was saying slowly, as if reasoning something through, “Chekov is dead because he believed the bullets would kill him.”   

Spock added quickly, “He may indeed be dead. We do not know.”  

Kirk nodded briefly in acknowledgement of this. Scotty looked hopefully at him. Kirk continued, “But we do know that the Melkotians created the situation. If we do not allow ourselves to believe that the bullets are real, they cannot kill us.”   

“Exactly.” Spock was relieved anew at the capacity of his Captain to follow a thought to its logical conclusion without needing every step of the path explained. But for the benefit of the Doctor and engineer, who were still frowning, he added, “I know the bullets are unreal, therefore they cannot harm me.”   

Kirk had jumped ahead, to the obvious flaw in that solution. “We must all be as certain as you are, Mister Spock, to save our lives.”  

“Precisely.” He met Kirk’s gaze, and saw the moment a potential solution occurred to him, as it had already occurred to Spock himself. Kirk took a breath, and an unreadable expression crossed his face.   

McCoy was saying, “But that’s not possible. There’d always be some doubt.”  

“The smallest doubt would be enough to kill you.” Spock’s tone was flat, and factual. Scott looked to him in alarm.   

“We’re just human beings, Spock.” McCoy’s voice told him that the doctor had accepted his hypothesis, but rightly doubted his own ability to carry through the necessary mental discipline. “We don’t have that clockwork ticker in our head like you do.” The doctor’s voice was defensive. “We can’t turn it on and off.”   

“We must.” Kirk’s voice was firm, and directed at McCoy, but he was still looking at his first officer. As Spock met his Captain’s searching gaze, he inclined his head, almost infinitesimally.   

Kirk added, “Spock, a Vulcan mind meld.” His gaze was soft, apologetic, but his voice was firm. There was an edge of command to it which Spock did not miss.   

He said quietly, “Very well, sir.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the faces of Scotty and McCoy tighten with anxiety. In front of him, Kirk’s expression was unusually neutral. He took a breath, and turned to Scott.   

“Engineer?”   

Scott gave a mute nod.   

Spock raised his hands to the engineer’s face. “Your mind to my mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts.”  

*  

James Kirk was experiencing a discordant symphony of emotions. There was some fear, and the rush of adrenaline associated with their extreme circumstances. He was worried for his men, grieving for Chekov, and steady with anticipation for the fight to come. He was determined to live, by any means necessary, and hopeful that Spock might have given them the chance. 

But as he watched Spock step towards Scotty, he became aware that he was feeling, other, less appropriate emotions. As those long elegant fingers rested gently against Scott’s temples, a barb of something that felt a lot like jealousy pricked in his gut. He ignored it, glancing again towards the road, before looking irresistibly back to Spock and Scotty. The Engineer’s face had taken on a glazed expression. Spock’s face was concentrated, composed, but he was frowning.   

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. He hated that he’d had to ask Spock to do this. Having experienced the meld himself, he knew the intimacy of it, the mental exposure that was inevitable when a telepathic mind encountered a far less psychically disciplined one. He’d wanted to spare Spock that. 

But there was simply no other way. Not in the time they had. He took another slow breath. Looked again to the road. Next to him, McCoy was staring fixedly at the desert sand. Even with the hope of a reprieve, he still looked like a man condemned to execution. 

Kirk opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but Spock had opened his eyes, dropped his hands from Scott’s face, and stepped across to McCoy.   

*  

Spock had only grazed the tips of his fingers against McCoy’s temple before he realised that this meld would be more challenging than the last. Engineer Scott’s mind, whist undisciplined, and anxious about the unknown experience of the meld, had accepted his presence with relative ease. The regard in which he was held by his colleague, and the deep trust in him that was so easily read from Scott’s open mind, had almost invoked a emotional reaction from his own side. He had very firmly ignored it, but its presence had made the task easier. Scott was predisposed to trust and believe him, and his mind had followed easily where Spock’s had led.     

He had hoped for something similar with McCoy. But there was nothing like that here. The doctor – although he was trying with all his will to conceal it, to appear unconcerned, to acquiesce with his Captain’s request – was terrified. Spock did not have to wonder in what the fear was rooted. The resulting paralysis in McCoy’s mind was creating a barrier to the actions Spock needed to take.  He hesitated. It would be possible – straightforward, in fact – for him to force this meld on the doctor. It would be logical to do so, as it would save his life. Better a traumatic meld, than a certain death. But he hesitated.   

Beside him, he was aware that Jim remained, for all the tension of their situation, in the state of heightened, aware, but active calm that often overtook him in extremis. It was one of his finest command qualities. From this he knew that the Earps were not close. He also knew that the meld with Jim could be fast. He had no doubt at all that his T’hy’la’s mind would accept any suggestion from his without hesitation. So, he had a little time.   

He sent, gently, Leonard  

He wasn’t sure, in the cacophony of emotion and noise, that he had even been heard. He projected calm and peace as strongly as he could, until he felt a lessening in the maelstrom. He sent again, carefully, Leonard, please try to focus on my voice    

There was a sudden, almost violent, pause in the storm. He heard, faintly, Spock?    

At the emotional tone of McCoy’s thought, he was reminded of an old human expression he had heard his mother occasionally use: like a rabbit in headlamps.   

He said, still soft, Yes. Can you hear me clearly?    

I don’t - Oh god - I – yes. I can. It’s - it’s not hearing though, is it, I mean this isn’t really your voice, is it?  McCoy’s mental voice was almost babbling with anxiety.   

Spock sent calmly, clearly, It is not. It is a projection of my thoughts into your mind.    

Right, yeah. You wanna be a bit more precise with your terminology there, Spock, don’t want to be confusing people. This is hard enough.      

Next to him, his T’hy’la remained calm. They had time.  

I apologise for my imprecision.      

It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll let it go this time.    Some of McCoy’s usual demeanour was beginning to assert itself.  You can’t be perfect all the time.     

I most assuredly am not .   

He had meant to project this with the same neutral calmness, continuing to soothe, but some of his conviction of the truth of this statement had leaked into the thought, something of his own insecurity. He expected an immediate, sarcastic reply, but instead, to his utter astonishment, out of that confusion of emotions, clear as the striking of a perfect bell through an ebbing tempest, came:    Don’t worry, Spock. You’re close enough.     

If the thought had been spoken, he would have dismissed it as humour at his expense. But coming as it did with McCoy’s open mind behind it, he felt a mix of respect, admiration, and wry affection, that made his breath catch in surprise.   

Around them, a storm was beginning to gather. As McCoy’s mind remained open, and calmer, he seized his chance.  Trust me, please.     

There could be no obfuscation here.  I  do. I always did.      

The bullets are unreal.  Without body. They are illusions only. Shadows without substance. They will not pass through your body, for they do not exist.        

To his relief, he felt McCoy’s mind follow his own, and slip unresisting into his own conviction.  

They do not exist.      

*  

James Kirk looked back from the road to his two closest friends. Spock’s face was a mask of concentration. McCoy’s had relaxed from his frozen horror at the start, but this still seemed to be taking a long time.   

He watched for a moment longer, then looked back to the road. The wind had picked up. A storm was beginning to draw in. The road was still deserted. He looked back to his first officer.   

Hurry up, Spock.     

It was simple to tell himself that his impatience was entirely related to their current predicament. He had every right to be concerned. Every moment that passed brought their potential death closer. But convincing himself of such easy lies was getting harder with every day that passed.  

In his heart of hearts, he knew the natural anxiety was accompanied by - something else. An excitement, an anticipation, an expectation of pleasure that had nothing to do with this crazy situation, and everything to do with once again getting to touch Spock’s mind, to feel his thoughts, his presence, those intimations of regard, of affection, that seemed to slip through without his conscious volition. There had been no pressing reason for them to meld since Vulcan, and of late he had found his mind returning to that evening with a yearning that seemed somehow natural, yet unjustifiable.   

Spock opened his eyes, and lowered his hands. McCoy’s peaceful, unseeing gaze was fixed on the horizon.   

Spock stepped across to his Captain, and Kirk felt his heartrate kick up. He met Spock’s expectant gaze, and nodded, before closing his eyes, and drawing a steadying breath.   

*  

Spock brought his fingertips to rest against his Captain’s temple, but kept his eyes open for just a second longer than necessary. There was something inexplicably moving in the look of complete trust and acceptance on Jim's face. He had never melded with anyone more than twice, and he realised that he had been expecting that familiarity would breed contempt. That Kirk would tire of this peculiarly Vulcan practice. Instead, the face turned to his was peaceful, and there was something almost anticipatory in the tilt of the chin, the flicker of the eyelashes. He closed his own eyes. The ritual words were almost unnecessary with this mind, but he murmured them anyway.  

Kirk's mind welcomed him at once. After the fear and anxiety of his other crewmates, Jim’s mind was like stepping into warm sunlight on a cold day. He even felt some of his captain's natural trepidation about their current situation fall away as his mind gladly welcomed the intruder.   

Affection, relief, anticipation brushed by him like fireflies through darkness, leaving behind them that wonderful golden warmth that was always and only Jim. The simple joy of this profound connection stole his purpose and he took a moment to bask in it. My T’hy’la.   

Hey Spock    

Hello Jim    

Fancy meeting you here.    His captain’s humour danced through his mind.   

Reluctantly, he sent:  Jim, we must -      

I know, I know.  Another thought drifted through their joined minds.  No time to see, in broad daylight, streams full of stars, like skies at night.      

He supplied immediately,  W.H Davies.      

Yes. Don’t know what made me think of that.   He sensed some embarrassment behind the thought.   

He sent gently,  We do have very little time, Jim.      

I know, I just   he stopped. 

Spock wondered, with a sudden surge of guilt, if some of his own reluctance to leave this mental haven had transmitted itself to Jim. He forced his mind into pointed neutrality. 

There was almost a sigh from Kirk’s side of the meld, then: Carry on, Spock.      

Follow my thoughts, Jim. Feel my conviction. They are unreal .  Appearances only. They are shadows. Illusions. Nothing but ghosts of reality .  

Jim’s mind fell easily in line with his. Spock was surprised anew by the strength of will that lay behind it. He barely had to direct, and Jim’s mind followed, driven by Jim’s own determination and willingness. He sent, and began to hear the echo of Jim’s conviction:   They are lies.  Falsehoods. Spectres without body. They are to be ignored.        

When he opened his eyes, Kirk was looking back at him with unshakeable faith.   

He turned and took his place next to his Captain. On the road, four figures had appeared. Across the sands between them, Wyatt’s voice said clearly,   

“Draw.” 


USS Enterprise, Stardate8332.41 (Terran calendar: 22nd June 2268) 

With every light year the Enterprise covered, Kirk felt a corresponding lightness of his heart.  McCoy had insisted on giving him the antidote to the Dohlman’s tears, in spite of his protestations, and McCoy, he thought reflectively, had been right. He moved his queen to the lowest level, and smiled at the look of mild consternation that came over his first officer’s face.  

To have his own feelings distinct from those that had been chemically imposed on him was a relief.  

Although, it had been oddly exhilarating to feel that way. To feel that kind of connection again. He said as much, obliquely, to Spock, to be rewarded with one of those looks that Spock reserved for only the grandest examples of human illogic.  

“Your emotions were manipulated and used against you. This was done without your will or consent. I fail to see how any aspect of the experience could have been appealing.” 

His first officer sounded positively annoyed about the whole thing, and the air of protectiveness in his tone made Jim smile.    

“There is something seductive about that feeling, Mister Spock. To know that you are loved in that way, and to return that love, is – one of the greatest gifts of humanity. And Vulcans too, I’ve no doubt.” He smiled easily at his friend. “Even if it is only once every seven years.”    

Spock’s expression froze. In the silence that followed, Jim had the strong impression that he’d said something completely wrong. He paused in the act of reaching for a chess piece from the third level of the board, and said uncertainly, “Spock? Everything okay?”   

For a moment Spock didn’t reply, and his face had slipped into that pointed, almost harsh neutrality that he used with those other than Kirk.    

Jim said, trying to keep his tone light, “Spock, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to imply that Vulcans feel. Or don’t feel. Okay, I’m not sure where I’ve gone wrong here.”  

Spock said carefully, “Jim, I believe you are labouring under a misapprehension.”    

Kirk smiled in relief. “Wouldn’t be the first time, Spock. Correct me, please.”   

“You appear to be under the illusion that Vulcans are only capable of – or only feel – romantic attraction during our time. That is not the case. As you are aware, the biological imperative that occurs every seven years must be obeyed at the risk of our lives, but -” he hesitated before saying, “-we are fully capable of all forms of – closeness - between those times.” 

Kirk stared at him, with a frozen expression that Spock couldn’t read. Spock looked at him in concern. He took a steadying breath, then added quietly, “My – desires – in that regard are - as yours, Jim.”  

For a long moment, Kirk didn’t speak. When he did, his voice was oddly detached, and he had the air of someone struggling to wrap their head around a concept. “But – but you don’t, I mean, other than under the influence of those spores or something, you’ve never shown the slightest interest in – in anyone –“ he broke off. 

Spock said, “Until last year I was bonded to T'Pring. It would have been highly inappropriate for me to engage in any such behaviour whilst such a bond existed.” 

The ramifications of that statement fell hard into the sudden silence between them. Spock lowered his gaze to the board, in a show of obviously feigned interest. Jim had no doubt he had the board committed to memory. 

Jim felt a tightening in his throat and swallowed it down. This line of conversation was clearly making Spock uncomfortable. As his Captain, there was no need for him to know any of this. So it was with no regard for the rank between them that he said, “You – you said were bonded to T’Pring when you were seven.” 

“That – is so.” Spock was still looking at the board.   

Kirk took a breath. His mouth was dry. He needed to shut this line of conversation down. It was none of his business. But something in his gut wouldn't let him stop. “Spock, does that mean you’ve never – “ 

Spock said quickly, “I believe my position has been made clear, Captain.” 

Kirk swallowed. Captain. Right. None of his Captain’s business.  He said, “Quite right Mister Spock, sorry. Forgive my unwarranted human curiosity.” He tried to lighten the mood with a smile, but Spock wouldn’t meet his gaze.    

There was one more question he needed to ask. One thing that he - needed to have clear. And since he had already crossed the line of appropriateness – “You -” his voice dried in his throat and he tried again, “You could now, though? If you wanted. If there was someone you – wanted.”  

“Vulcans do not engage in – casual encounters.”   

“No, no of course not. I didn’t mean to imply – “ 

“I will have you checkmated in four moves Captain.” 

Kirk looked to the board with unseeing eyes. Spock could have checkmated him already and he wouldn’t have noticed.      

*   

Jim Kirk stared hard at the ceiling of his quarters. There was no way he’d be falling asleep any time soon. His mind wouldn’t leave  that  conversation alone. He kept hearing Spock’s voice, over and over.  My desires are as yours.  That was a hell of way to phrase it, for a start. What did Spock think he knew of Kirk’s desires? Was that his way of saying that he was attracted to people in the way he had seen Kirk be, but didn’t act on it?  

And if Spock’s desires were like his own then surely it meant - that Spock had looked at him the way he sometimes looked at Spock. Was  that  what he had – no. That was reading too much into it.     

My position is clear, Captain.  Damn right it was. Spock had not been with anyone during the time of his betrothal to T’Pring. Which had lasted from the age of seven, until almost two years ago. And from that day to this, Captain James Kirk could account for pretty much all of his first officer’s time. They'd even spent their leave together. Which led to only one conclusion. Spock – his friend, his first officer – easily the most knowledgeable person he’d ever met - Spock, with his dry humor and boundless loyalty, his compassion, his kindness, and his fierce intelligence – Spock, who was brave and self-sacrificing and so disciplined, - Spock, with his passionate loyalty and seemingly boundless capacity for the emotions he suppressed and denied, - Spock, who was the perfect balance of compassion and strength, and had the darkest eyes Jim had ever seen. That Spock. That almost perfect package of body, mind, heart, and soul. That Spock. Had never been in love. Had never made love. To anyone. Ever.    

The concept was so incredible that he almost couldn’t wrap his head around it. Only Spock’s Vulcan nature made it even plausible. How good was his self-control? How long was the list of people he’d turned down?   

The obvious question of course was, did he even want to?   

My desires are as yours, Jim.     

Kirk hadn’t spent the years of their friendship celibate. He’d slept with four people since he’d met Spock. Spock had to know that. Had to. They didn’t discuss it, of course, he didn’t ‘kiss and tell’ as the saying went, but – Spock knew. For certain, about two of them. And wouldn’t have struggled to guess about the others.    

My desires are as yours, Jim.  Which meant what? I’d like to sleep with people like you’ve done, but I’m Vulcan and we don’t engage in casual encounters so I haven’t? What constituted casual? Was Spock – looking for a relationship? Did he want to find someone to have – encounters with?   

The mere thought brought a flare of feeling so possessive Jim brought both hands to his face and breathed into them before rubbing his eyes hard and staring again at the ceiling. This was bad. Just being attracted to Spock had been bad. Finding him attractive, as his Captain, was bad. But that was  before . When he’d thought that Spock was incapable of returning his admiration. Now he knew that Spock could, the situation was worse. And to make it even harder, Spock hadn’t ever acted on attraction before. The next person he was attracted to could be his first. His first - everything.    

Jim rolled over onto his front and buried his head into the pillow. He hated the feeling of possessiveness that thought brought up. He hated that he resented even the notion that Spock might meet someone else. Above all, he hated how much he wanted to be Spock’s first. How much he felt he had the  right  to be. How much he hated the imaginary future person who might take Spock away from him.  

He needed to get a goddamn grip. He was Spock’s friend. His Captain. He was, on both counts, in a position of trust. The ways in which his unwanted affection could screw this up were myriad. He could lose not only his finest officer, but his closest friend. He needed to take every scrap of inappropriate attraction, jealousy, possessiveness towards Spock and bury it deep.     

None of which changed his feelings one iota.      

*   

Planet Amerind, Stardate: 8372.09 (Terran Calendar: 28th June 2268)  

James Kirk was in love. The last week had been a blur, and everything before it was lost to him, but in all that confusion, one thing stood out like a beacon of pure light.  

Miramanee. She had been the first person he saw when he opened his eyes, and with any luck, when his end came, hers would be the last face he saw. She stood before him in the hut like a vision of the future – love, happiness, and joy, in one kind, generous, and beautiful soul. She gazed back at him in quiet delight, barely able to hide her smile, her unadulterated joy, before the Elder.  

For him. All for him. Kirk wondered if he’d ever been looked at like that before in his life. He doubted it.  

Although he had no memories of his life before her, the flashes, images, feelings he had of that time, were not of this  love, this peace. What blurred images he saw, and they were rare, were bright, and harsh, and frightening in their intensity. Voices called to him, again and again, always seeking, always wanting  something , something he was afraid he would one day be unable to give. Everywhere was lit, but not with the warmth of the sunlight outside their hut: a duller, dimmer, more demanding light. He had no sense of the love he felt from Miramanee. No touch of the peace that enveloped him at the mere thought of their life together.  

He had no idea what his life had been before. He knew only that he was glad to be relieved of it.  

USS Enterprise,  Stardate: 8765.76  (Terran Calendar: 21st  August 2268)  

“You need to get some rest.”  

“I shall rest, Doctor, when this problem is resolved.”  

“Oh yeah, I’m totally gonna sign off on that. Sixty days without rest? No problem, Spock, carry on.”  

Something in his tone must have communicated itself, because Spock spared a few seconds of his valuable working time to give the doctor a withering stare.  

“There is no need for sarcasm Doctor. I shall rest when I am fatigued.”  

McCoy leaned against the divider in Spock’s quarters and said reasonably, “Okay. Here’s how this is going to go. Either: you stop work, right now, and rest until alpha shift tomorrow, or I’ll relieve you of duty until such time as I’m satisfied you can be relied upon to know the value of a decent rest period.” 

Spock did stop then, and stared up at him in barely concealed disbelief.  

“Your choice, obviously.” McCoy smiled, but there was no sympathy in it.  

Spock barely contained a sigh of irritation. “Very well, Doctor.” He stood and deactivated his desk monitor. “I shall rest until tomorrow.” 

McCoy nodded. “Good.” As he moved to leave, Spock walked to the bed, and sat reluctantly down.  

McCoy said quietly, “Jim’s alright, you know. He’ll just be waiting for us to get back there, wondering where the hell we’ve been.” 

Spock didn’t reply.  

McCoy left, and the doors swished closed behind him. When he reached the corridor, he leaned against the nearest wall and began to count slowly. When he reached six, a passing yeoman gave him a strange look. He gave her his most charming smile, and carried on counting. At ten, he activated the medical override on Spock’s quarters and walked back in.  

The Vulcan, back at his desk, monitor reactivated, looked up in irritated surprise. McCoy said evenly, “And when we do get there, I really don’t want to have to explain how I just stood by and watched as the temporary Captain of the Enterprise worked himself to death.” He looked towards the bed, then back to Spock, and his voice had none of its usual charm. “I’ve let you get away with it so far. Now, you rest.” 

Spock’s jaw worked as if he wanted to respond, but at the look on McCoy’s face, he rose with dignity from the chair, deactivated the monitor and returned to the bed.  

McCoy said, “And just so you know,” he nodded towards the monitor, “the computer will tell me if that thing’s on.” He looked back to the Enterprise’s first officer. “Goodnight Spock. Sleep well.” 

Amerind  

Kirk lay in the absolute darkness of their small hut, staring at the crack between the hides across the door which let in the dim starlight outside. At his side, Miramanee’s breathing was peaceful and deep. Slowly and quietly, so as not to disturb her, he crept from their bed, grabbed a spare blanket to wrap himself in, and moved into the night. Even after all these weeks here, the vision above him still stole his breath. The night sky was bathed in stars from one horizon to the other, broken only by the tree line on either side. The light was just enough to walk by, so he moved from their hut, through some of the closer trees, to the lake, and settled himself at its edge. The stars lay reflected in the pool and shone back at him from above and below. This close, it was easy to imagine that there was no ground at all, that he moved amongst the stars like the god his people believed him to be.  

He did not know why he found that thought comforting – after all, he was no god – but somehow, he did. He sat, breathing deeply, staring at the stars, letting the peace of the place wash over him. He had had the dream again. There had been nothing in it to distress him this time, so Miramanee had not woken, as she sometimes did after the bad dreams.  

This one had been – oddly peaceful. He struggled to recall it. He did not wish a return to that life, but some of the knowledge that he clearly required to be the ‘god’ that Miramanee and her people required had been lost with that old life, so he felt some responsibility to try and recall –  something . Ideally, something that would tell him how to read the symbols on the obelisk his wife told him he had come from. That would be useful, surely.  

So he looked at the stars, and let his mind drift back to his dreams.  

USS Enterprise  

Spock stared at the ceiling of his quarters. By far the most irritating part of the doctor’s ongoing insistence that he rest was his own awareness that McCoy was correct. He required rest. He knew he required rest. Without a clear mind he could not hope to translate the symbols. But that was easier said than achieved. His awareness of Kirk’s absence was a pain in his mental landscape that could not be removed. But whilst working, whilst occupying his mind with potential solutions, with calculations, it could be put to one side. Ignored.  

But when attempting sleep, or meditation, it pierced his conscious awareness like a rapier. He wished he knew at least that Jim was safe. That he was not suffering. That he was – alive. McCoy was convinced that the Captain lived, that he would be found on the planet when they returned. But there was no evidence at all to support that assertion. All the same – he agreed with the Doctor.  

There was no logic to it, but something deep in his unconscious mind whispered to him that he would know, he would simply  know , if James Kirk’s soul no longer kept company with his mortal form. This was even less logical than the Doctor’s stubborn assertion that Kirk lived. They were not bonded. The potential for a profound bond existed, but it had never been actively sought, never realised. Nevertheless, he could not shake the belief that Kirk lived. At least for now. Whether he was safe, or happy, or healthy however, he had no way to know.  But perhaps - 

He had believed, on occasion, that he had a sense of his Captain’s presence. His thoughts. Perhaps because of their potential bond. Perhaps because they had melded more than was strictly necessary. Perhaps there would be no harm in – actively trying to establish that connection.  

Amerind  

The stars always helped. They were grounding, somehow, in their distant beauty. Images from his dream began to come back to him. They were always frustratingly vague, the faces always out of focus, the voices always muffled, but he simply allowed them to be as they were, without trying to force them to be clear. It was easy to be accepting now, here, in this quiet corner of paradise.  

He closed his eyes. The ground beneath him seemed to shift, become – different. Smoother, less natural. Like one of the carved chairs in the Elder’s lodge. There were still stars ahead of him, but like – an image of stars, not the real thing. Around him, a gentle murmur of sound. A low humming. Quiet conversation. This was not the demanding noise of multiple voices he had heard before, but almost - soothing. And, closest of all: one voice – grounding, appealing, trusted - for his ears alone. He had the strongest impression the voice was coming from his right. He turned his head automatically, and for a moment, he almost saw a face. He had the briefest impression of dark hair, dark eyes – he strained to see the features - then it was gone.  

He took a breath. He had pushed too hard. Had his overactive imagination inserted his wife into the dream? That would explain the profound feeling of loss when the image had vanished before truly revealing itself. But somehow, instinctively, he knew that wasn’t right. Miramanee had no place in these dreams, in that life. It was one of the reasons he had no wish to return.  

He opened his eyes again. It was colder out here. He should return to their hut. But something held him in place. The dark-haired figure in his dream deserved – something. One more attempt at remembrance, perhaps. He drew the blanket closer around him, and closed his eyes again.  

USS Enterprise  

Spock cleared his thoughts and allowed himself to sink deep into his own mind. Past the place where his bond with T’Pring had once resided, and beyond, to the source of that golden warmth that revealed itself whenever he had contact with Jim’s mind, and seemed to speak purely of love, of connection. Of T’hy’la. It was not a place he usually allowed himself to visit. There would be no realisation of the potential of their bond, so there was no logic in exploring a landscape, however appealing, which could never be of any use to him.  

But now he allowed himself to move directly towards it. Allowed it to fill his conscious mind: sank into that warmth, that beauty, that strength. That all encompassing love. For one moment, time hung suspended, and in the next, he knew: T’Sha’al had been wrong. There could be no other bond beside this. Whilst loving and honouring them both as individual souls, it transcended who they were: spoke of a greater unity, a greater truth, beyond bodies, beyond minds, where only love was real, and only love existed. It reached for him, and embraced him: as a child, as an adult, as a colleague, as a friend, as a lover. It saw every facet of his identity and loved all the same.  

Somewhere, where his body still existed, tears might have fallen, but here, into that pure, golden warmth, he sent: 

Jim  

T’hy’la  

Hear me, please   

Amerind  

His surroundings were still unclear, but even so, he knew they were different this time. Not so harshly lit, nor even so noisy. The space was smaller. The background hum remained, but there were no other voices, only that quiet, appealing voice  again. He resisted the urge to try and see its owner. Instead he reached out. There was a smooth, clean material under his fingers. It felt warm, but unnatural somehow, not like the animal skins of his home. The dark-haired figure was close, in front of him, looking into his face. The air between them was charged. 

He tried to address the figure. Who are you?   

There might have been a reply, but he couldn’t make sense of it.  

Who am I?  Can you tell me? Please.  

Something appeared in his mind then. One thought. Two single words. Not his own.  

Jim.  

T’hy’la  

And behind those single thoughts, feelings, tumbling over each other: admiration, acceptance, respect, amusement, warmth, affection, and - love. Love that he had never imagined this other life had ever offered him, whose existence had remained hidden. The moment hung suspended as he drifted in joy – then the other images came, the twisted faces, the cries, people dying, dying for him: and then the feelings behind them: pressure, anger, grief, isolation, loneliness, fear  -  

He gave a cry, opened his eyes, and staggered to his feet. In the starlight, the lake was still peaceful, the forest still quiet. He took a few breaths to steady himself.  

No. There was nothing for him in that other life. The price was far, far too high. He would no longer seek its secrets, but remain safe, in peace, with his wife and her people.  

He did not recognise those strange names. They were not his own. He was Kirok, and Kirok he would remain.  

Amerind,  two days later  

James Kirk was dreaming. He was being  held. Cherished. A voice whispered to him, too low to make out the words. Breath was warm against his cheek. Soft fingertips touched his face, ran down his bare chest. Lips grazed his neck, kissing his bare skin. He tried to turn his head, to see the face, but the warm space was too dark. Hands began to explore, tentative at first, then more certain: stroking, feeling, adoring.  

Every nerve in his body felt alight. He wanted to move, wanted to reciprocate, wanted to ask for more, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.  

The lips had moved from his neck, and begun a slow, reverent trail downwards, kissing and caressing every inch of skin until it reached his chest, then began to lavish attention on that hardening nub: licking and sucking until Kirk drew his breath on a small cry.  

Those lips kissed his bare skin again, gentling, quieting, almost an apology. He begged them not to stop, but no sound would come. But as if sensing his wishes, he felt himself enclosed again in that seductive, wet heat, and he let out a sigh.  

Those hands that had been gently, slowly, worshipping his abdomen, tracing the planes of his muscles, massaging where any tension was found; had worked lower, into the dip between his hips, and were now tantalisingly close to his cock which was already hardening in anticipation of their touch.  

Then, all at once, the hands, the lips, the warmth – disappeared. He gave a cry of frustration, and another voice said, “Hush, my Kirok.” 

He opened his eyes. In the dim starlight, his wife’s face was just visible above him. She was smiling. “Hush my love, you were dreaming, but a pleasant dream, I think? Perhaps you were - dreaming of me?”  

He blinked up at her. That would have been the logical conclusion. They were newly weds. Their love life lacked neither frequency nor passion. She said, softly, “I am real, my Kirok, you need not dream.” 

He smiled up at her and her matching smile became a squeal of surprise as he flipped them over so he was on top of her, bending his head to kiss her, and beginning to work his way down to her  breasts. She gave a sigh of pleasure and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. He went willingly. As he lost himself in his wife’s heat, her cries, her passion, he felt somehow, as if he were still dreaming, as if phantom arms still held him, phantom hands still caressed him, a strange voice still whispered to him in low heat, stoking his desire and driving him to a completion beyond anything he’d known.  

He buried the only certainty of his dream deep in his mind. That the body giving him pleasure in his dream: worshipping, cherishing, adoring, driving him to the edge of desire, of reason, who had known how to pleasure him so intensely, who he had so badly wanted: it had not been his wife.  

USS Enterprise, ship’s time 01:30 hours 

Spock had slipped from meditation into sleep. This rarely happened: for his disciplined mind, the two were clearly delineated. But exhaustion had finally held sway, and he slept, slumped on his bed.  

His sleep, however, was fitful, and restless. As it had been every night, in what little snatches he allowed himself, since they had left Jim on that planet. 

Until the dream began.  

He was lying next to Jim, as he had done before in life, when circumstances had required it. But this was not like those times. This was different. He could hear Jim’s thoughts,  feel his desire. And he could not remember any reason not to acquiesce to his t'hy’la’s clear wishes. Not to enact the fantasies that rippled through his mind. It was his role. His duty. He reached for him. Began to follow his thoughts. Enact his desires.  

Jim’s reaction was beyond what he could have hoped. He moaned. He begged. He cried out for more. And he adored in return, bathing their joining in every ounce of human passion and love his extraordinary soul had to give.  

USS Enterprise, ship's time 11:00 hours  

Spock came to awareness slowly, and reluctantly. Two things called themselves to his attention. One, for the first time in over a month, he wasn’t waking up already exhausted. He was, perhaps a little tired, but no worse than that. The reason for that occured to him almost immediately and he turned his head to see the chrono. And stared in disbelief. He had overslept. And not by a little. He had intended to sleep for three hours, but instead of waking at the appointed time, he had slept for a further   seven hours.  

He had slept for ten hours. Ten. He hadn’t slept that long since he was a child. The only reason he hadn’t been contacted by another member of the crew already was his stated intention to work on the obelisk translation in his quarters all day.  

With which he was now even further behind. He moved to hurry from the bed, then looked down at himself in mortified disbelief. His dream of the night before came back to him in all its terrifying clarity. He had dreamed – he had been with – he shivered involuntarily. It had seemed so real.  

But he could not give time to considering it now. His work was too important. There was no time for indulgence. He would meditate upon it later, when the obelisk had given up its secrets.  

Moments later, he left the sonic shower, and pulled on his uniform. Whatever had happened last night, at least it had, somehow, helped. He felt sharper than he had in weeks. Yes, he had missed some hours of work, but perhaps –  

In his haste to reach the desk and continue his work, he was pulling on his tunic as he moved. The dual action denied his movements their usual grace and he knocked against the stand containing his lyre. The instrument hit the floor with an unmusical thud, and he bent to retrieve it.  

Then stopped, staring at the instrument in his hand. Something that had been niggling at the back of his mind for days began to crystallise into a definite theory. Slowly, he moved to sit at his desk. He activated his monitor, and the symbols from the obelisk appeared. He looked from the screen, to his lyre, and back to the screen. 

Suddenly, they no longer looked so alien, nor so obtuse. He felt the quiet thrill of discovery.  

They might, after all, be saved. 

USS Enterprise  

It was deep into ship’s night, and the Enterprise was quiet. Her Captain wandered her halls in lonely silence. There was no real need – Spock's meld had worked; his memories had been restored. He did not need to refamiliarize himself with her. And yet, there was something soothing about seeing the ship unfold slowly before him. Yes, this. Yes, here. All was as it had been. And the lateness of the hour meant that there were few crew about. He was free to pretend, for a little while, that it was simply him, and the Enterprise, slipping quietly through the stars. His lodge in the sky, as Miramanee had called it.  

He wondered what she would have made of his ship. He didn’t think she would have liked the new food replication technology that Starfleet was trying to roll out. His wife had – rightly – prided herself on her cooking, and wouldn’t have welcoming the technological usurpation of that task. He reached a Jeffries tube, and ran a hand against the smooth, cold surface. Everything was cold here. He’d never noticed that before. And everything was – manufactured. Apart from Sulu’s small botany lab, there was nothing natural on the entire ship.  

Miramanee would have hated it. The thought made his throat tighten. Then, slipping quietly into his mind as if she had whispered into his ear,  I would treasure that which you love . She had said that once, when he had tried to describe his dreams to her, described the lodge in the sky. She had thought it sounded frightening, but had recognised its importance to him. 

I would treasure that which you love.  He felt grief try to assault his senses, and he pushed it away, pulling himself up into the nearest Jeffries tube, and realising only as the walls began to narrow that it was the one next to Spock’s lab, that he’d long ago adjusted for more lab space.  

He climbed into a junction space and stopped. This was the junction he’d spoken to Spock in, on the first night of his command, nearly four years ago. He sat back against the wall, staring at the panel the Vulcan had been fixing that night.  

If there is any way I can assist you, Captain, either within the performance of my duties or without, know that I am ready to do so.   

Sometimes his memory was more of a curse than a blessing. Spock had barely known him then. But he had made good on that statement in the years since. Time after time, Spock had come through for him. In the performance of his duty, and way beyond it.  

He stared at the panel. The edges had begun to show signs of wear, of erosion. The ship was beginning to get tired. They were all beginning to get tired. Five years was a long time.  

He had barely spoken to Spock since returning from Amerind. Spock had followed him to his quarters, presumably expecting a debrief on Kirk’s extended absence, but he had dismissed his first officer with a curt, “I’ll expect your report.” And had avoided him since.  

The truth was, he hadn’t truly forgiven Spock. Logically, there was nothing to forgive. By his actions, by cracking the code of the writing on the obelisk, Spock had saved the life of everyone on the planet, as well as preserving the Enterprise, her crew, and retrieving her Captain. The man deserved a commendation, not the cold shoulder. He had behaved in an exemplary fashion throughout. Even McCoy, letting Jim out of sickbay after a full check-up, and apropos of nothing they’d talked about, had said, “He worked himself into the ground to save you, you know.” 

He had no doubt McCoy was right. But it didn’t change how he felt. Had felt since the first moment he had set eyes on Spock after that long absence. He had been dazed from the stones, exhausted with the futile effort to protect his wife, and frozen in place with two conflicting emotions – terrible, desperate hope –  he  will help us, I know it  - and a gut-wrenching fear –  but he will take all this from me . He had been right, on both counts.  

He closed his eyes. Memories of their meld spiked through his conscious mind.  

Don’t do this, please. I don’t want to go back.   

Jim, I must. Forgive me. Your life is at stake, and the lives of all on this planet.   

No. I’m not Jim. I don’t know Jim. I am Kirok. Kirok.  

He had thrown that thought at the invading mind with all he had, but to no avail. Spock’s superior mental abilities had shown him his true identity, his true life, beyond any hope of denial.  

Then he’d hoped, in those moments in the obelisk, that they had arrived in time, that Miramanee would live. That they’d be able to arrange something with Starfleet. Surely, in these, unique, truly exceptional circumstances....  Perhaps he could spend his leave on Amerind. Perhaps Miramanee could come with him. Perhaps – and then he had walked into their lodge, and seen McCoy’s face.  

And now he was home. Back on his ship. Back as Captain. Responsible for every life on board. Without the comfort and solace of the love of another. Alone.  

He felt grief pushing again at his hard-won equanimity. He should have stayed in his quarters, but he hadn’t been able. He'd felt like the walls were closing in. There was no peace to be found there. The ship was never silent. He heard her voice again;  I’ll love you, always.   

Tears gathered in his eyes, and the panel in front of him began to blur. How many times would he need to endure this loss? And for what? His ship, his duty? Was it truly worth it? All his life he had believed, with every atom of his being, that no price was too high.  

Now, he wondered.  

There was a noise from the side of the tube nearest the lab. He started, and looked up. The figure of his first officer appeared and pulled himself lightly into the small space. Kirk blinked rapidly, took a deep breath. Spock said nothing, merely looked at his Captain, concern in every line of his face.  

After a moment, when he was sure his voice wouldn’t shake, he said quietly, “Plasma conduits giving you trouble again, Mister Spock?” 

Spock looked around, as if recognising the place for the first time. He said simply, “No. You were not in your quarters, so I asked the computer for your location.” 

Kirk’s voice sharpened, “Something urgent? You could have commed me.” 

Spock looked at the deck grating between them. “There is nothing urgent. I – wished to ascertain that you were well.” , 

And just like that, all the anger he’d been carefully nursing against Spock, against the sadness that wanted to overwhelm him, fell away, and grief rushed in to fill  vacant places. He put his hand across his face.  

Spock was saying, “Jim, I wanted to – on Amerind, in the meld, you asked me to stop – I wished to, but I could not – your life, the lives of those people – but I caused you distress, I -” 

Kirk had raised a hand. “Spock, stop.” It was all he could manage for a few breaths, but he couldn’t bear the other's misery on top of his own. “It wasn’t you. You didn’t cause me distress – you did everything, you did more than -” his voice cracked and he stopped again, before croaking out “- it wasn’t you. It’s okay. We’re okay. You  - you can go.” He dropped his face into his hands again, tried to breathe. He just needed a minute to get himself together, to -  

The careful hand on his arm made him jump. He looked up. Spock had moved quietly across the space between them, and knelt close to him. He said, uncertainly, “Jim. You are unhappy. Please allow me to – provide emotional security.”  

He took a breath, said, as evenly as he could manage, “Spock you don’t have to, I’m - “ 

“I know. But I wish to.”  

“Okay.” He took another breath. “Okay. Well, you - could keep sitting there - for a minute. That’s – good.”  

Spock hesitated for a moment longer, then the hand that had been on his arm went gingerly around his shoulders. It was the single clumsiest attempt at an embrace that James Kirk had ever been subjected to, but in that moment he didn’t care. The damn broke, and he buried his head in relief against that blue clad shoulder.  

He murmured, brokenly, “I don’t deserve you. I didn’t deserve either of you.”  

The reply was so quiet he barely heard it. Spock’s other arm was around him and he was being held with all the gentle sympathy the Vulcan could bring to bear. “You did. You do. T’hy’la, you deserve all. You must grieve, but do not allow it to taint your innate worthiness. There was no fault of yours.” 

Somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind, a memory sparked. That word. The Vulcan word. He had heard it before. On Amerind, perhaps – but he couldn’t think of that now. Perhaps he would remember later, but now, now he merely wanted to rest. And grieve in peace.  

USS Enterprise, Stardate: 9082.69  (Terran Calendar: 4th October 2268)  

It had been almost a month since the Enterprise had left Amerind behind them, and slowly, slowly, he had watched his Captain become more like himself. He talked more now, made jokes again, teased his friends, and engaged in banter, even on the bridge. In private, he was still a little quiet, but even that felt like a privilege, a side of himself he showed only to his first officer, and even that was gradually lessening, as more of Jim’s innate optimism began to reassert itself.  

Spock sank down onto his meditation mat. His Captain’s mental state was significantly improved. This was good news. The ship was running with its usual efficiency. Starfleet command had expressed their carefully worded approval of the Enterprise’s performance. All was well.  

Except. There was something niggling at him. Something that had been bothering him since Amerind, and it was time to address it directly.  

He breathed slowly, centred himself, and allowed the unsettled feeling to surface, and its origins to become apparent. It did not take long.  

Jim had loved Miramanee. With all of the devotion and adoration of which his passionate soul was capable. Only her death had prevented some form of continuation of their relationship, he was sure. The obstacles would have been significant, but he had no doubt that James Kirk would have found a way.  

Which meant that what T’Sha’al had said those many months ago was correct. Other bonds could be formed. Could be successful. The T’hy’la bond – or certainly an unrealised one - did not negate them. Jim had loved another. Completely. Entirely. Had grieved her as a lover lost.  

And, there was a chance – a likelihood – that he would do so again. And that fortune would favour him with a better outcome – someone with whom he could share his life.  

After his extraordinary experience in trying to reach Jim on Amerind – when he had seen, for a brief, surpassing moment, the potential of their bond, then felt the potential joy of their union – Spock had known he would never want a relationship with any other. And their time apart had shown him - that he did not wish for one. He did not wish for any life that did not involve this man. He wanted to be at Jim’s side for as long as Jim would allow it. Wanted his friendship, his affection, his -  

He hesitated. But he must, in this as in all things, be honest with himself, in spite of the shame that twisted his gut.  

He desired Jim’s love.  

He desired – Jim.  

If he had been in any doubt of that before, it was dispelled the moment Kirk had called Miramanee his wife. The flare of desperate sadness, of jealousy, had almost thrown him from his purpose.  

But such a thing could not be. Jim desired Spock to be to him exactly what he was – his closest friend, and the finest first officer in the fleet. He had stated this on more than one occasion. To seek for more was purest folly, and would endanger what they already had.  

It was clear now that Jim’s choice would always be to form a romantic relationship with another. And sooner or later, Jim would marry again. This was inevitable.  

And to preserve his own life, he must do so too. Before his next time, he would  need to find a partner. It was clear that his unacknowledged feelings for Jim had been preventing this, even subconsciously. Well, no longer. He had acknowledged them, he had faced them, and he must – he  must  – set them aside. Allow them to wither, and die. Their friendship, their duty, demanded nothing less. And any loss of his own, any pain that this decision evoked, must be faced, must be borne, must be overcome. It had to be so. For Jim’s sake, if nothing else.  

He felt already a stab of reluctance, an inner cry of pain. There must be another way. His human side, surely. There was no other way. He would overcome this weakness, this emotion that threatened to overwhelm, to consume. He must resist.  

He must find another bondmate.   

*

Notes:

Up next: 

Spock finds a potential new bondmate. His Captain is profoundly unimpressed.  

McCoy's burgeoning relationship is threatened when he falls fatally ill.  

Jim is declared dead, and his two closest friends must work out how to carry on without him.  

Chapter 17: To the Marriage of True Minds

Summary:

Scenes set after The Enterprise Incident.

Scenes set after The Empath

Scenes set before and after For the World Is Hollow And I Have Touched The Sky.

Notes:

Thank you so, so much to everyone who has commented! You are all so kind, and awesome, and I'm so grateful.

Massive thanks as ever to my lovely beta, manekikat <3 xxx

I'm sorry for inadvertently causing confusion with my up next summary: Jim's declared death is in the Tholian web - we're nowhere near Generations death yet, I'm afraid. But we never got to the Tholian web in this chapter either because I am apparently incapable of keeping the word count down.

And on that subject, it looks like my chapter estimate was, frankly, laughable. So, if it's okay with everyone, I think 20 chapters will take us to the end of the first five year mission (and just after), and then there will have to be a First, Best Destiny Part Two to tackle the movies and take us to the actual fixing part of this Generations fix it!

Is that okay? Or would it be hugely overdoing it and I should just wrap this up sooner?! Let me know your thoughts!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Romulan Space, 2371  

The ship, as predicted, was old. Not perhaps, a garbage scow, but close. Equipped with a basic cloaking device, should it be required, and idents to allow him out of Romulan space. It was also, helpfully, a model with which he was familiar, and could therefore fly without  assistance.  

In front of him, the navigation console beeped to indicate that they were leaving the immediate airspace of Romulus. His flight was scheduled, and would not deviate from its planned route until so close to the neutral zone that it would be too late to send any ships to intercept, if the deviation were noticed at all. The trip to Vulcan, once out of Romulan space, would be straightforward. Apart from the neutral zone itself, once inside Federation space, there were no busy flight zones or areas of disputed ownership. His flight should be uninterrupted.  

He switched the screen view to show him Romulus, falling away behind the ship. He had not thought he would be sorry to leave, but now the moment had arrived, he felt – strangely sad. And regretful. As if he was leaving business unfinished.  

The Romulans were an extraordinary people. They combined the very best – and worst – of Vulcans and Humans, with a passion that was entirely their own. He had met so many over the years that he could not recall all of their names, but they had contributed anew to his appreciation and understanding of this society, these incredible people.  

A memory stirred, and he almost smiled. But none had contributed quite so much as the first Romulan he had ever met. She had been rare amongst her people, in her openness, and willingness to trust a member of the Federation. He had not, at the time, appreciated just how rare.   

He had not recalled that time in decades, but he allowed his memory to drift back. One of the rare, true arguments between himself and Jim. Both believing themselves in the right, and unwilling to back down. It had been many years before they had discussed that argument at any length, and he remembered being genuinely surprised at the level of his bondmate’s emotion over the incident, even years later.  

How little he had suspected then. He had thought he knew Jim well enough to anticipate his responses. Well enough to know where his affections lay. How oddly naïve his younger self had been. Believing that, without a bond, he could know someone well enough, especially someone like James Kirk, to anticipate where their heart would fall. Although, perhaps it had never been naiveté at all. Perhaps it had always been – fear. Maybe there had been a kernel of truth in Jim’s anger. Maybe he had run foolishly to her, to avoid facing the intensity of the truth that awaited him with a bond of which he was afraid.  

He stopped that train of thought. All was, as it was. Kadiith.  

He switched the screen view forward again. In front of him, a starfield. A sight he had seen almost every day of his working life. As the last few decades had passed, he had grown almost immune to its beauty, its power. But now, seeing it again, for what would be his last journey, he felt strangely moved. As if the stars were calling him home.  

Second star to the right, and straight on until morning.   

USS Enterprise, 15th October 2268, en route to starbase 19  

They moved through the hallways of the Enterprise towards her assigned quarters. He had been surprised but relieved when Kirk had immediately offered her quarters, and not the brig. The trip to the nearest starbase was a relatively long one, and the brig provided little in the way of comfort or privacy for a high-ranking prisoner.   

Spock was aware that he had acted entirely logically, and in accordance with both his orders and his duty, and had no actions with which to reproach himself. He was also aware that he maintained a sense of dissatisfaction over the events, and over the fate of the woman at his side. 

He reached the assigned quarters, and nodded to the guards already stationed outside. They entered, and she looked around with disinterest. “Astonishing how little difference in imagination there is between human and Romulan interior starship design.”  

He said mildly, “Practicality is the primary concern.”  

She walked to the centre of the room. “How far are we from the nearest outpost?” 

“Five days.”  

She sighed. “I appreciate that I am not in a cell, but this room is not, in and of itself, terribly interesting.” 

He walked to the computer interface on the desk. “I can arrange for this to provide access to the ship’s entertainment library.” 

She stared at him for a long, disbelieving moment, then laughed. “Oh, please do. Human entertainment. I can barely imagine what delights await.” She fixed him with a wide eyed, insincere stare. “I promise not to use it to access your ship’s systems.” 

He tilted his head curiously at her. “You would not be able to.”  

She raised an eyebrow. “You sound awfully certain of that.” 

“I designed the interface between these terminals and the ship’s systems. I can ensure it.”  

“Oh, Spock.” She sighed as if he was being deliberately provoking. “Now you have tempted me to try.”  

She moved to the table and sat, resting her head on her hand, regarding him with veiled amusement.  

“It was not my intent to be - tempting.” He realised only as he said it that that statement could be taken two ways, and he frowned. 

At his face, she laughed, a genuine sound, only slightly tinged with bitterness. “And yet, how wildly you succeeded.”  

He did not know how to reply to that. There was no reason, here, now, for him to respond to her. No reason for him to continue their acquaintance at all.  And yet. He moved to the computer, and began to programme her access. As he did so, he said, “There are also – a number of Vulcan texts in the library.” 

“And why would they interest me?” 

“I found my time aboard your vessel to be most illuminating. There are many similarities between our peoples.” 

“As I am learning. Devotion to duty being a common trait. Unfortunately.”  

He glanced at her as he worked. She was watching him closely, her head on one side. Deprived of her command, a prisoner, she nevertheless maintained an air of authority and quiet confidence. And yet some of the vulnerability that she had allowed him to see on her own vessel remained, leaking out in her voice and posture.  

He said, quietly, “What will happen to you?” 

She regarded him evenly. “Surely that is up to your Captain. That is rather the point of taking someone prisoner.”  

“I meant, when you are returned to your people.” 

 “You are certain I will be returned.” 

“Starfleet believes there to be Federation citizens being held in Romulan space. It would be logical to arrange an exchange.”  

She nodded slowly. “They are correct. And I suppose there would be no harm in admitting it. They will want me back quickly. They will fear the knowledge I could give you.” 

“They must know you would not volunteer it.”  

“They would not trust you not to extract it. We are trained to resist physical torture, but Vulcans are known to have – other methods.”  

He stopped working on the terminal. “No Vulcan would use their mental abilities in such a way.”  

She smiled at him then, and it was a little sad. “You believe that, don’t you? That you can, with such confidence, speak for an entire race. I’m afraid I do not share your belief. There would always be someone willing to do the unthinkable. Even you, given the right provocation.” 

“I would not.”  

She gave a huff of laughter, but there was no amusement in it. “Oh, I like you still, Spock of Vulcan, First Officer of the Enterprise. I wish I could live in the world as you see it. I envy your Starfleet. To have captured such absolute loyalty. To be deserving of such unshakeable faith. I hope they never disappoint you.”  

“I regret that I was forced to disappoint you.”  

“You would do the same again.”  

“Of course. One may commit to an action that is correct and justified, and still regret its consequence.”  

She absorbed this in silence. He completed the programming of her desk access to the computer, and rose.  

“It is complete?” 

“Yes, you have access to the ship’s entertainment files.” He crossed to the door.  

“Must you go?”  

“I have duties to perform.”  

She said dryly, “You have been on duty, it transpires, since you beamed aboard my ship. Do they not allow off duty time in Starfleet?” 

He glanced at the chrono. She was, in fact, correct. His duty shift had officially ended during their walk from the bridge.  

He turned back to her. “You would wish me to stay?” 

“Yes.”  

“Yet you have every right to be angry with me.”  

“I am angry with you. But I understand your actions.” She sighed. “I am angrier with myself for not anticipating them. Yet against my better judgement I find myself - still desirous of your company.”  

He inclined his head at her. After a moment, he said, honestly, “Likewise.”  

She smiled then. “How painfully frank we have become. But still, it is preferable to lies, is it not?” She raised an eyebrow at him.  

He regarded her. “Not everything I said aboard your ship was a lie.”  

She inclined her head at him, almost mockingly. “Likewise.” 

He said, a little reluctantly, “I must report to my captain this evening.” 

“Ah. Of course.”  

“But I could come back tomorrow.”  

She eyed her surroundings with mild distaste. “I will be here.” 

“In the meantime,” he added, “we have five days. I have left a programme on the computer that explains the tactics and moves employed in a game of - three-dimensional chess.”  

She stared blankly at him. “Three dimensional chess? I am unfamiliar with it.”  

“It is there. If you would be interested in learning.” 

She regarded him with dry amusement. “It’s not as if I have any other pressing matters to attend to.” 

USS Enterprise, 16th October 2268, en route to starbase 19  

She looked up from the desk as he entered. “Good evening, Spock of Vulcan, First Officer of the Enterprise.”  

He stood before the desk. “Good evening. I trust you are well.”  

“Your guards are being remarkably solicitous. And efficient.  It is even possible, had I attempted to overpower them, I would not have succeeded.” 

“You did not feel the need to test that theory.”  

“I was busy.” She gestured toward the console on the desk. “Examining your computer.” 

“You have not succeeded in accessing the ships systems?”  

She fixed him with a wry smile. “No. But I have four more days. Today, I have been learning how to play three-dimensional chess. An intriguing game. I imagine you are rather good at it.”  

“I have achieved a relatively high level of proficiency.” 

“Well, I have never played, although I engaged the computer in a sample game this afternoon.” She looked around them at the unadorned quarters. “If your intent was for us to play, we lack a rather obvious means.” 

“I can supply a chess set, if it would please you.”  

She said dryly, “I rather suspect it would please you, since the suggestion was yours.” She gave him that wry smile again. “However, I think I could provide reasonable opposition, if you can supply a playing surface.”  

“I shall do so.”  

“Good.” There was a silence. She looked at him curiously. “Was that all?” 

“No. If you would be willing, I would wish to continue our conversation that we began aboard your ship.”  

“Just the conversation.” Her tone was light, but her gaze was sharp.  

He looked away. “Given - subsequent events, I believe anything further would be rather - presumptuous.”  

She said dryly, “I believe you are correct.”  

He nodded. “But you would not object to a continuation of our conversation.”  

“I would not. I am curious, however. Given that our conversation aboard my ship was primarily a distraction to allow you to steal our cloaking technology, and your aim was achieved – why do you wish to continue it?”  

He took a step forward. “My interest in your people is genuine. I wish to identify further areas of commonality and difference between Romulans and Vulcans. I believe a closer relationship between us could only be beneficial to both.” He paused. “There might even - one day - be reunification between our peoples.”  

She laughed. “That could never happen. We are far too different.”  

He said archly, “That you can, with such confidence, speak for an entire race. I’m afraid I do not share your confidence. There would always be....someone willing to do the unthinkable. Even you, given the right provocation.” 

She blinked, then suddenly barked a laugh. “A good point. And it must be acknowledged that you are - quite provoking.”  

“Do you mean Vulcans in general, or me in particular?” 

“Oh, definitely you. In particular.” She rose, and rounded the desk. “When you referred to a closer relationship, you meant our respective peoples. Not – you and I.” She had stopped in front of him. The distance between them was as it had been in her quarters.  

“I would not wish to be thought – presumptuous.”  

“It would not be the worst I have thought of you.”  

“Deservedly so.”  

“Indeed. But now you have a chance to improve my opinion.”  

“And if I desired such a thing, how might it be achieved?”  

She smiled then, genuine and almost warm. “Perhaps if you were to stay, and talk with me, I could – give the matter some thought.”  

USS Enterprise, 17th October 2268, en route to starbase 19  

James Kirk stared at the viewscreen as if it had personally offended him. In a way, it had: by failing to show anything of interest to distract him from his thoughts. Not that he could really blame space. The fault lay with their prisoner, whose presence had forced him to take a long, unnecessary and boring diversion to the nearest starbase containing both sufficient security and diplomats. And absolutely nothing on said trip was even remotely interesting, which meant his mind kept returning to the same problem, over and over.  

Spock.  

Not that Spock was a problem. In fact, the extent to which Spock wasn’t a problem was fast becoming an issue in itself.  

It had been sixteen weeks since he’d realised that a relationship between them could actually happen. That nothing, in an emotional or biological sense, was preventing it. Nothing was stopping it at all in fact, if you ignored rank, friendship, and duty. Sixteen weeks of pushing that thought as far from his conscious mind as it could conceivably go. Sixteen weeks of focusing on friendship and duty and absolutely, positively nothing else. It was becoming wearing.  

He’d spent the time pretending that he didn’t notice his first officer in any way but professional and he’d been mostly successful, right up until the evening he’d decided a thorough workout was in order to burn off any excess energy that his body might want to direct in other, less appropriate directions.  

Only to arrive at the ship’s gym to find Spock sparring with Commander Darren.  

Spock sparring at all was a fairly rare occurrence. Darren was the only person on board, up to and including Kirk himself, who stood any chance against Spock in a match, and only then when he was in peak condition.  

It had been quite late into ship’s evening. So, he’d been perfectly entitled to expect to find the gym virtually empty.  

Except the sight that greeted his eyes upon arrival had been his first officer pinning his head of security to the floor of the gym. Both were stripped to the waist, and sweating, the session clearly having been going on for some time. Even Spock’s hair, with it’s almost preternatural predisposition for order, was disarranged.  

And maybe it was tiredness, or stress, that caused the lapse in mental discipline, but Kirk’s mind had immediately wondered what it would be like to be pinned by his first officer in an entirely different scenario, and he’d had to turn around and leave the gym before either man noticed his presence.  

Crisis point for his mental discipline had finally been reached two days later, transporting Earth’s ambassador to Andor. The woman herself had been perfectly pleasant, but she’d had a cat. She, and the cat, were apparently inordinately popular on Andor, and it was just accepted that where she went, the cat went too. Even starships, to Kirk’s barely concealed chagrin. They’d had dinner with her that evening, and the cat, as small furry creatures were wont to do, had taken an immediate shine to Spock.  

Kirk had expected a quiet discouragement of its affections from his first officer; instead, it had spent the entire rest of the evening nestled happily on his lap, covering his uniform in cat hair, as his owner held forth on her experiences on Andor. In any other circumstances, the conversation would have been genuinely fascinating, but Kirk couldn't stop his gaze returning to Spock. His long, elegant fingers smoothed gently over the animal’s fur, pausing intermittently to redirect his stroking at a directing nudge from the cat. Occasionally, he would break off to scratch behind her ears, and this produced an increase in purring volume so loud, Kirk wondered if it was bothering anyone else.  

It was the contrast that his mind couldn’t seem to parse. He knew, better than most, the strength that lay in those hands. Spock could snap the animal’s neck with no more effort than he would take to lift a padd, or operate a tricorder, and yet he was so gentle, so careful, almost reverent, with the creature, that it made Kirk’s heart clench, and his mind turn suddenly to what other use those incredible hands could be put. He’d ended up leaving their small gathering early, if only to get away from Spock and the cat.  

And now, two weeks later, things had not noticeably improved. His awareness of Spock’s physical presence seemed to be magnified. He had stopped the casual touching of his first officer that used to come so easily, lest he accidentally betray himself. Unfortunately, he had never wanted to more. Fortunately, Spock himself had spent recent shifts in the science lab, so at least temptation was temporarily out of his way.  

As end of shift came, Kirk moved to the turbolift.  

Shore leave. That’s all I need. Shore leave.   

She regarded the chess board with carefully contained interest. “This is lovely. Is it yours?”  

“It is.”  

“Well, we shall have to play.” 

“That was my intent.” 

She looked at him with a wry smile. “I’d ask you to go easy on me, first game, but history suggests that you will not.” 

He reached past her to place the final piece on the top level of the board. She didn’t move to facilitate his action, and his arm brushed hers. He said evenly, “History suggests I will not need to.” 

An hour after leaving the bridge, having been diverted to engineering by Scotty, Kirk finally arrived at his quarters to find Janice Rand leaving his dinner tray.  

“Good evening, Yeoman.” 

She gave him a cheerful smile. “Good evening, sir.” It was one of Janice Rand’s more charming qualities that she always seemed pleased to see him. At the beginning of their acquaintance he’d assumed that her attitude was put on to impress. After three years, the thought had started to occur that she might simply like him.  

He sank into the desk chair and ran his hand across his face, watching as she sorted the never–decreasing pile of data padds in order of priority.  

He sighed. “I thought that shift was never going to end. I was on the verge of asking the science department to run a scan for temporal anomalies.” 

She laughed. “Let’s be honest, sir, with what this ship goes through, it’s a reasonable precaution.”  

He smiled in turn. “Maybe I should start every shift that way, as a matter of -” his gaze fell on the table and he broke off. “Rand?”  

“Yes, sir?” 

“Where’s the chess board?” 

She followed his gaze to the noticeable gap. “Oh, Mister Spock stopped by earlier, asked if he could take it back.” She looked at Kirk in sudden concern. “I didn’t really feel I could refuse; I mean, it is his, isn’t it? I said you wouldn’t mind, as you haven’t been playing so much lately.” There was an implied question in that last sentence that he ignored.  

“Ah. Yes, it is his.” He forced a smile. “Did he, er, did he say what he wanted it for?”  

“Not to me.” Janice looked pointedly at him.  

Kirk took the hint. “Let me rephrase the question, Yeoman: do you have any idea why Mister Spock might choose to relocate his chessboard?” 

“Funny you should ask, sir, and you know I’m not one for gossip.” 

“Yes, given,” Kirk said hastily.  

“But I did hear from my roommate, who as you know, is dating Lieutenant Kent, who is currently spending his duty shifts -” 

“Guarding our prisoner, yes, I approved the duty roster for the security.” Kirk had an unhappy feeling he knew where this was going, and hoped he was wrong.  

“Right, well, apparently, that’s where the board – and Mister Spock – are. And he’s been there every evening since she came on board.” 

Kirk swallowed hard. “Well, you know our Mister Spock. Never one to miss an opportunity for research. He's been keen to learn more about the Romulans since we first ran into them.” 

Janice gave him a look, that had he not been her commanding officer, he would have described as pitying, and said neutrally, “Yes, sir.”  

“Well, that - will be all Yeoman, thank you.” 

He won the first two games with ease. She was highly intelligent, and a quick learner, but a novice player. The third game was proving slightly more of a challenge, when she said, “Well, as we have discussed Romulan society to the point of tedium, I think it’s my turn to ask questions now.” 

“Please do. As with your answers, I shall refrain from answering anything that may be classed as related to security or defence in any way.” 

She nodded. “Agreed. But my question is more – personal than that.” 

He looked at her curiously.  

She continued, “On my first day here, I referred to a Vulcan mental technique that is the subject of much - speculation - on my world.”  

“The kash-nohv. In standard: mind meld.” He reached to the third level of the board, and removed a piece to the first level.  

She watched his hands as he moved. “Yes. There are various rumours on my planet as to its usage in Vulcan society and I would like you to confirm or deny them.” 

“I can see no harm in that.” 

She considered the board as she said, “You have already stated that it is not habitually used to extract information from unwilling subjects, yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“To your knowledge.” 

He eyed her sternly. “It is not used that way, at all.” 

She smiled at him, and her voice was teasing. “If you say so. It could be used that way, though. In theory.”  

“In theory,” he acknowledged dryly, meeting her gaze. “In practice, it is used to impart information to willing minds.”  

“Hmm.” She made an unexpected move and he frowned slightly. She continued, returning her gaze to his, “It is also said that it is used - between couples.”  

“That is true.” He considered his next move, aware of her closeness, her eyes on him. “Vulcan couples share a mental bond which is enhanced by the use of the meld.”  

“Ah.” She lowered her voice slightly and leaned towards him as he reached for a piece on the second level on her side of the board. “It is said that it is used to – enhance sexual pleasure.  

“That is –” he could feel her breath on his hand “- also true.” His fingers closed around the piece. Her gaze was heated, and intent, and suddenly he couldn’t quite remember the move he had been planning to make.  

She said, “Ah.” And lifted her hand, resting her fingers over his where they held the chess piece. He released his grip slightly, just enough to allow her fingers to slide between his. Her breathing picked up, and he held her gaze as the air between them vibrated with possibilities.  

After a long moment, he said huskily, “Are you entirely certain this is the move you wish to make?” 

James Kirk stared at the empty space on the table opposite his desk. Spock had  taken back his own property. Which he had every right to do. Why, then, did it feel like a betrayal?  

Yes, it was, strictly speaking, Spock’s board, but it had lived in Kirk’s quarters for nearly four years. Its removal felt – profoundly wrong. And unsettling. As if some fundamental piece of his daily existence had just disappeared.  

He’d been to see the Romulan commander twice. Out of politeness, if nothing else. One captain to another. She’d greeted him politely, thanked him for her treatment, and answered his questions monosyllabically until he gave up on the conversation and left. Now it transpired that Spock had been spending entire evenings with her. Talking about what, exactly?  

He’d never enquired into any detail of how Spock had managed to distract her sufficiently to allow them to steal the cloaking device. After all, he’d been in that kind of situation himself, more than once, and it didn’t take a great deal of imagination. But the mission was over. There was no need to prolong their – acquaintance. He toyed with the food in front of him. Perhaps he should have asked Spock what happened. After all, his first officer had spent most of his life engaged to a woman he rarely saw. It didn’t exactly make him a relationship expert. What if the Romulan commander was using his subterfuge to manipulate him? He prodded viciously at his dinner. What if Spock had convinced himself that his feelings where somehow genuine? He had no concerns that Spock would do anything to endanger the Enterprise or her crew, but Spock himself might be – vulnerable. 

That thought drove him to his feet. It was time to pay another visit to their guest.  

They had moved away from the board, and the table was no longer between them, but their fingers remained intertwined. He found he did not wish to let her go, and she seemed to have the same thought, staying close enough to him to keep her hand in his. As on her ship, he could feel the vague background noise of her thoughts and emotions. There was nothing specific, but enough to remind him that although untrained, their mutual ancestry made her mind telepathically inclined. Any sensation passing between them would therefore be magnified. And enough to tell him, beyond doubt, that although there could be no future for them without betrayal of duties to which they both held true, she nevertheless wished to seize this moment between them, and create a more pleasant memory for them both.   

She said, hesitantly, “Spock, I wish to – you must say, if it is too much to ask, but I have always wondered -” 

Her overriding desire was clear in his mind. He said, huskily, “You wish to meld.” 

“Yes.” She took a shallow breath. ‘You know we do not train our minds in that way; you would have nothing to fear from me.” 

“I am aware.” He trailed the fingers of his free hand gently along her cheek, to her temple. “You do not fear the technique?” 

“With you? No.” She smiled at him then, gentle, and vulnerable. “Perhaps I am a fool to trust you twice.” 

“You are not. That was duty. This is my choice.”  

She released a breath. “I hoped you would say that.” 

He raised his hand to her face, and she did not release her grip, so he brought the fingers of both their hands to rest against her temple. Her other hand came to rest on his waist. She smiled at him. “Is this alright?”  

“It is non-traditional, but I believe we shall manage.” 

“Do I need to do anything?” 

He moved his free hand ever so slightly to brush very lightly against her eyelashes. She didn’t blink, and the trust in her face made his throat tighten. He said gently, “Close your eyes.”  

She did as instructed, and he took his hand back to her temple. “My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.”  

“Good evening, Kent, Johnson.”  

The security officers outside the Romulan Commander's quarters straightened their formal postures even further at their Captain’s approach. As one, they responded, “Good evening, sir.”  

“Is our guest well?” 

“As well as can be expected, sir. She’s pretty quiet.” This was Johnson.  

Kent said, “Commander Spock is in with her, sir.” 

“So I understand. Chess, is it?”  

“Assume so, sir. He had a board earlier.” 

“Right.” Even though Kent was only confirming what he already knew, the bald statement still made his heart twinge. “Right, well, I’ll pay my regards before I go off duty.” 

“Aye, sir.” They stepped even further to the side, somewhat unnecessarily, to allow Kirk access, and he moved past them. Sensing his approach, the doors opened, and he stepped inside. Behind him, the doors swished closed.  

James Kirk had spent his entire life training to respond to the unexpected. He prided himself on his ability to react to new situations faster than anyone else around him. But for the seconds it took for the occupants of the room to become aware of his presence, all he could do was stare, whilst his heart tried to hammer out of his chest.  

Two faces turned to him, but all he could see was Spock. Spock’s hands on her face. Her hands on him.  

The expression on her face telegraphed quite clearly that his presence was unwelcome. Spock slowly lowered his hands. His face was frozen.  

As he and Spock stood in fraught silence, she looked from one to the other, then lifted her chin and said, as if defying him to comment, “Good evening, Captain Kirk.”  

It took every ounce of discipline he’d ever learned, and every single second of command experience, to keep his voice level as he replied, “Good evening, Commander.” He turned to his first officer. “Commander,” he swallowed. “Could I - speak to you for a moment?” 

He was aware of Spock moving towards him, and the Romulan commander looking between them again. She might have addressed him once more, but he couldn’t hear anything over the rushing in his ears.  

He walked out of her quarters. He didn’t have to look to know Spock was following. He stalked down the hall to an empty briefing room, and entered. Spock followed behind him, and the door closed.  

Kirk took a slow breath. When he was sure he could trust his voice, he turned to his first officer and said, quietly, “What. The hell. Was that ?”  

He had never seen Spock so utterly expressionless. “To what do you refer, Captain?” 

Kirk stared at him in disbelief. “To what do I –” he ran a calming hand across his face. It didn’t work. “Spock, I need you to tell me that I didn’t just see what I thought I saw.” 

“What did you think you - ” 

“Tell me you didn’t meld with her!”  He hadn’t consciously intended to shout, and a small part of his brain hoped that no crew were passing outside.  

Spock said evenly, “I cannot provide that assurance, although the meld was brief. We were interrupted.”  

It was all he could do not to pace the small space. “Why? Why would you do that?” 

Spock looked at him curiously. “Captain, you appear agitated. I fail to see -” 

Agitated?” Kirk took a breath, forced himself to sound calmer. “Spock, she’s an enemy of the Federation. A political prisoner. Four days ago, she gave an order to destroy this ship. The  Romulans  have been pushing our borders for  years . Killing federation citizens. Killing Starfleet personnel. The knowledge in your head could make that job a thousand times easier. And you just – let her in there? Knowing that the plan is to send her back?” 

“You appear to be labouring under a misapprehension.” 

Kirk threw his arms out. “Oh, enlighten me, please.” 

“She did not have, and could not have had, access to the information to which you refer. Even during a deep meld, which that was not. Romulans do not habitually engage in the mind training provided to Vulcans from their youth. She lacked both the knowledge and discipline to execute any form of extraction of information. The risk of exposure was to the knowledge in her mind, not in mine.” 

Kirk blinked rapidly, took another slow breath. “Wait, so, you were – wow, you really carry a mission through.” He looked hopefully at his first officer. “Did you get anything?” 

“Captain?” 

“From her mind. Anything we can use?” 

Spock looked at him with a frown. “I did not investigate the possibility. I had given her my assurance I would not.” 

“What?” 

“We had provided mutual assurance that our interaction would not involve areas of knowledge prejudicial to our respective peoples.” 

Kirk stared. “Then - what the hell were you doing?” 

Spock blinked. “She wished to experience a meld. I complied with her request.” 

“You -” Kirk broke off, swallowed hard, “-complied with her request? ” 

“Yes.” 

Why?” 

“I have - never melded with a Romulan before. The chance was unlikely to present itself again. It is rare for non-Vulcans to express a willingness to meld, and she expressed a keen desire to do so.”  

“I bet she did.” He paced away, ran a hand through his hair, stepped back. “Spock, you can’t just go around – melding with people.”  

“Captain, you have instructed me to do so on three separate occasions.”  

“That's not – that's not the same.”  

Spock said, and there was an edge to his tone, “The difference being, that this time, the choice was mine?” 

“Yes. No! She’s - Romulan!” 

“Which, as I have stated, makes no difference.” 

Kirk snapped, “Well, I bet ‘fleet command would beg to differ.”  

Spock’s tone was glacial. “You intend to report me to Starfleet?” 

“You’re sure she couldn’t have gleaned any information from your mind?” 

“She lacked time, opportunity, and the necessary skills. So, to repeat: she could not.” This was practically snapped in turn. The tone was just the right side of subordinate.  

Kirk nodded. “Alright. Then this doesn’t need to go any further. Just – stay away from her until we get her off the ship.” 

“For what reason?” 

Kirk blinked. “I beg your pardon?”  

“Such a request would imply that you do not trust me to be in her company without endangering the ship.” 

Kirk said slowly, his voice barely even, “That ‘request’ was an order, Commander. Don’t make me repeat it. Acknowledge.” 

The was a brief, stony silence, then: “Yes, Captain.”  

“You’re dismissed.” 

USS Enterprise, 18th October 2268, en route to starbase  

Kirk was tapping his stylus on the side of the padd. McCoy tolerated it for as long as he reasonably could be expected to, then reached over and snatched the stylus from his Captain’s hand.  

Kirk looked up in irritation. “I’m using that.” 

“No, you aren’t. You could have read that report ten times in the time you’ve been sitting here, never mind signed it off. Stop being a goddamn nuisance, and just tell me what the problem is.”  

“What makes you think there’s a problem?”  

“Because you’ve barely said two words since you sat down. Which means it's one of those problems that you don’t want to admit to, or you’d have told me by now. Which means I would usually have to spend half the evening teasing out the issue, but honestly Jim, I don’t have time, and nor do you, so let’s have it.”  

Kirk said defensively, “What are you doing that’s so urgent?” 

McCoy sighed audibly. “It’s going to be one of those conversations is it? Fine, I’ll guess. It’s Spock. Spock and his new Romulan lady friend. How close am I?” 

“She’s not his ‘lady friend’.”  

“So, I’m right. Okay, what specifically is the problem?” 

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. “I – I think I might owe Spock an apology.”  

“I agree. We done?” 

“What? No. I haven’t told you why yet.”  

“They’ve been spending evenings together since she came on board. You told Spock you didn’t want him spending so much time with her, and he got all stiff necked about it and now you couldn’t slice the atmosphere on the bridge with a broadsword. Close?” 

Kirk stared at his friend. “You’re just guessing.”  

“It’s an educated guess based on knowing you, visiting the bridge this afternoon, and one of Darren’s security team having their physical this morning.”  

Kirk said irritably, “They shouldn’t be spreading gossip, they’ve got jobs to do.”  

“Never mind that. What did you say to Spock?”  

“Well, first things first, he wasn’t just visiting her, he –” 

“Getting our defence in early, are we? Never a good sign.”  

“Whose side are you on?” 

“I don’t know yet, do I? You haven’t told me what happened.”  

“Well, if you’d stop interrupting,” Kirk said testily, “I would.” 

McCoy gave a magnanimous wave of the hand.  

Kirk said flatly, “He melded with her.”  

McCoy looked immediately interested. “Did he? What for?” 

 “What do you mean, what for?” 

“Do you need a dictionary?” 

“No, I mean, that’s not the point.” 

“Well, what is the point?” 

“The point is, he shouldn’t be melding with enemies of the Federation. ”  

“Why not?” 

Kirk stared. “Because he could – let slip – classified information. Or – well, who knows what could happen?” 

McCoy looked at him in disbelief. “Spock. Spock knows what could happen. You don’t think he considered that before doing it? Of course, he did. And, not for nothing, but having been on the receiving end of a meld from our first officer, I’d have no concerns at all about him out-telepathing pretty much anyone.” 

Kirk said reluctantly. “That’s what he said. Not in those words, obviously.”  

“Well, there you go. And I bet he pointed out that her mind had classified information in it too.”  

“He did, but he also said they’d made a deal not to share anything like that. Apparently, they melded because – they both just - wanted to.”  

McCoy looked momentarily taken aback, before understanding finally dawned. He said, a little more sympathetically, “Ah. And he told you this?”  

“I walked in on them.”  

McCoy’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline. “Right. Okay. And - you reacted very reasonably and asked Spock what was going on, and he explained, and you said, goodness that’s a high risk idea Spock, liaisons with a Romulan, she’s got to go back you know, careful not to get too involved, but of course it’s none of my business, you’re old enough and ugly enough to make your own decisions, just be damned careful and don’t do anything I’ll have to report to Starfleet?”  

“We argued. I – ordered him not to see her.” 

McCoy closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, he said wearily, “Well, I was right, you owe Spock an apology. I’d make it before she leaves, personally, but your call.” He rose. “I’m off to enjoy the rest of my evening.” As he passed the visitor’s chair, he laid a not unsympathetic hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “Go and speak to him.” 

His Captain was uncomfortable. James Kirk very rarely had to rescind an order, and he didn’t like doing it now, but nevertheless, he was saying: “Anyway, I’ve given it some thought, and I may have been a little - hasty in ordering you not to speak to her.”  

Spock said quietly, “Not to see her.”  

“Sorry?” 

“Your order was - not to see her.”  

“Okay, what difference does that –” Realisation dawned, and he took a steadying breath. “You commed her.”  

Spock said evenly, “Yes. To allow her to leave without explanation would have been – rude.”  

Kirk’s jaw tightened. “Well, that’s very much sticking to the letter, not the spirit, of an order, Mister Spock, isn’t it?” 

Spock gave no reply, but regarded him with an expression that nevertheless implied that Kirk himself had frequently been guilty of such an approach.  

His Captain said hastily, “Well, anyway, consider that order – rescinded. If you want to say goodbye in person, well, that’s - I mean, you can.”  

“Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your reconsideration.”  

Kirk nodded. There was a silence. “Right. I’ll, er –” he gestured to the door.  

“Good evening, Captain.”  

Kirk took a step to the door. Then turned back. “Spock, I – it wasn’t ever that I didn’t trust you, I just –" he broke off. “I didn’t want you to think that. I trust you -” he blew out a breath “– more than myself, most of the time. I’m sorry if you felt otherwise.”  

“Thank you, Captain.”  

Kirk was almost to the door when a thought struck him. He half turned, and said quietly, “Spock?” 

“Yes, Captain?” 

“You’ll – er, you’ll - put the board back? When she leaves.” There was something in Kirk’s voice, his posture, that made Spock suddenly want to move, to touch, to reassure, to restore their usual closeness. He squashed the impulse, said neutrally, “I shall.”  

“Okay. Have a – pleasant evening.” When no further comment was forthcoming, Kirk turned and walked from the room.  

Spock stared at the closed door. He had not considered that Kirk would have any feelings around his relationship with the Romulan commander beyond concern for Starfleet security. But just for a moment, his Captain had seemed – sad. Even hurt. It was - most strange.  

As he entered, she looked up, and an expression of delighted surprise softened her face as she rose.  

He said, “I cannot stay long.”  

She said, and could not stop the disappointment from leaking into her voice. “I see.” After a moment she added archly, “Surely you are not here in defiance of a direct order?” 

“No, the Captain has reconsidered his position.”  

She gave a small huff of scepticism. “Is he always so protective of his crew?” 

“Habitually. He did not wish to see me do anything unwise.”  

She nodded slowly. “And you are – a very loyal officer. How lucky he is.” She sat back down. Her posture was suddenly defeated, and he found he did not relish it.  

He crossed to the table, and sat. “However,” she looked up, “if you are amenable, I would have time for a game. Or - two. It would seem a shame to waste your newly acquired skills.”  

She smiled, a little sadly. “You need not.”  

“I wish to.”  

She sighed. “Perhaps he is right. Perhaps it would have been – unwise. For both of us.” Then she smiled again, and leaned across the desk, lightly bushing his fingers with hers. “But it would have been – memorable.” 

Jim Kirk lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling of his quarters. Sleep was failing to embrace him. Ship’s night had officially begun an hour ago and trying to work through it had made him tired, so he’d come to bed. But now he was here, his mind apparently didn’t want to sleep. What it wanted to do was torment him with thoughts of Spock.  

None of my business. None of my business.   

He trusted his first officer. He wanted him to be - content. He deserved to be happy. Experience all of life’s rich tapestry. None of which was helping at all with the twist of pain in his gut, the unerring stab of jealousy at his heart.  

He’d never felt this way before, and he hated it. He’d always been the one to make the decision to walk away. And when the inevitable regrets occurred, he could tell himself that he’d made his choice. That he was happy with the sacrifice.  

It didn’t feel nearly so true as it once had. This choice had never been his. 

He refused to allow himself to access any information on Spock’s current whereabouts. This was a rare occasion where ignorance of the outcome was better than confirmation.  

USS Enterprise, 19th October 2268  

Kirk and McCoy stood outside the hangar deck as the guards escorted the prisoner to the shuttle. Spock was waiting beside it, and their heads came together in quiet conversation as she reached it.  

Kirk watched them, a sour feeling in his gut. “The sooner that woman is off my ship, the better.” 

McCoy said mildly, “Feeling threatened, are we?” 

“Don’t be absurd.” Kirk’s voice was almost a growl.  

“What’s absurd? Another captain, attractive, competent, making bedroom eyes at your first officer? If I were you, I’d want her gone too.” 

Kirk snapped, “Don’t you have some patients to torture?” 

“You only question my professional competence when I’m right and you don’t like it, have you noticed?” 

“Oh, take your professional competence and –“ he broke off and smiled aggressively at a passing crewman “- be somewhere else.” 

When he glanced to his side, his CMO was regarding him with open compassion. He said, irritably, “ What ?” 

McCoy looked back to the couple in the shuttle bay, and said softly, “Either talk to him, or find a way to get past it. One or the other. Or you’ll drive yourself – and me – crazy for the rest of this ride.” 

When no response was forthcoming, he patted his Captain’s shoulder gently, before walking away.  

Another Christmas on the Enterprise came and went. For the first time, without Spock. His mother had invited him to a celebration with his parents on Earth, and he had sought, and been granted, permission to go.  

The Enterprise’s Captain spent the day holed up in his quarters, and for once, his CMO raised no complaint, merely sat with him as they worked their way through a decent Saurian brandy.  

Late in the evening, McCoy left, claiming tiredness, but Kirk strongly suspected if he checked the logs there would be an active call to Vulcan. He sighed. McCoy had been right, all those weeks ago. He needed to move on. Stop obsessing about something that could never be. It wasn’t just that duty, and friendship stood between them – Spock clearly didn’t think of him that way. If the incident with the Romulan Commander had proved one thing, it was that he would not be his first officer’s choice of romantic partner. And that was – as it should be.  

They’d been – careful with each other since her stay on the Enterprise. Overly solicitous. Overly polite. Almost formal, even off duty. Occasionally, their usual banter, their usual closeness would bleed through, and Kirk’s treacherous heart would leap in his chest.  

Then he would remember, and tell himself to back off. Tell himself to stop imaging things which weren’t there. But even so, in the quiet of the night, when he tried to relax himself, to release the tension of the day, or the week, and he thought of past lovers, or beautiful strangers, it was stronger hands than he had ever felt, and a voice as familiar as his own, that brought him to completion.  

USS Enterprise, 3rd  February 2269  

As they reached his quarters, and the doors slid closed, McCoy turned to his captain in irritation. “Oh, for god’s sake Jim. Stop – coddling me.”  

Kirk adopted a look of righteous indignation. “How is this coddling? This is me –“ he barely hesitated over the lie, “- encouraging your professional development. Like a good captain should.” He nodded in satisfaction and fixed Bones with a self-congratulatory smile.  

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Professional development, my eye. This is you, forcing me to take leave.”  

“Okay, first: pot, meet kettle, and second: it’s hardly leave. You’ve been invited to speak at a medical conference. It’s not two weeks on a beach.”  

“It's nearly a week on one of nicest starbases in the sector with a presentation I could do in my sleep.” 

“Yes, exactly.” Kirk spread his arms in frustration. “And you’re fighting me on this because?”  

“Because, as usual, your motives are suspect. You aren’t sending me on leave out of the goodness of your heart. You’re sending me on leave because you don’t trust my nerves after what happened with Gem, and - and the Vians.” 

Kirk looked genuinely stricken. “Bones, that’s - not even slightly true.”  

McCoy looked away.  

“We all went through it with Gem.” Kirk continued quietly, “But none of us more than you. And if I could go back and change that I would, but I can’t. And don’t tell me that you wouldn’t be saying the same if the positions were reversed. You deserve a break. And as your Captain, and even more as your friend, I want you to take one. Look, make the best of it. Ask T’Rena if she’d like to go – her field’s medical, isn’t it?”  

McCoy opened his mouth to complain again, then closed it. In his usual combination of intelligence, gut instinct, and happy accident, Kirk had hit on possibly the only winning argument he could have made.  

Starbase 11, 23rd February 2269  

He had been concerned that T’Rena would find the conference tedious, focussed as it was on primarily the work of medical personnel, but it was late into the third day and there was still no sign of her being anything less than entirely fascinated, or of them spending any time alone. They had, separately and together, attended every speech, workshop, group chat, presentation, and equipment demonstration the conference had to offer, and even McCoy, pleased as he was to be interacting with like-minded colleagues, and talk about something other than whatever crisis was currently gripping the Enterprise, was starting to flag.  

He touched her arm as she began to make a beeline for yet another demonstration, and said, “T’Rena.” She stopped immediately, and looked back at him. He said, aware that he didn’t want the barely contained look of pleased discovery in her face to disappear, “I was wondering, did you - maybe - want to go for a meal this evening?” 

She blinked. “We go for a meal every evening.” 

“Yes, but I meant just us. Not all of the other delegates as well.” 

“You are proposing that we eat in a location that will only contain the two of us?”  

“Well, yes.” 

“The station is somewhat overcrowded. That may be difficult. Perhaps we should eat in your assigned rooms.”  

“I was thinking a restaurant, but – that would be fine.”  

 “A restaurant would involve the presence of other diners. And staff.”  

“Good point. My rooms it is then.” 

She frowned, suddenly doubtful. “If that Is – appropriate? I am in agreement that it would be pleasing to talk more privately somewhere undisturbed, but I was not suggesting that we engage in physical intimacy at the present time.”  

McCoy blinked. A passing delegate gave them a wide-eyed stare. He said hastily, “No, I - wasn’t suggesting that either – I just – like you said – it would be nice to – to talk.”  

“Good. I shall meet you at your rooms at twenty hundred hours then, if that is acceptable?”  

“Sounds good.”  

She nodded, and turned back towards the demonstration. He touched her arm again. “T’Rena.” 

She turned back once more, said patiently, “Yes, Leonard.” 

“Just in the interests of clarity – I was wondering about the exact parameters of - er-“ he lowered his voice “– ‘physical intimacy'.  I was wondering if you’d object if I, er, demonstrated my affection?” 

She stepped a little closer and lowered her voice to match his. “In what way are you proposing?” 

“Well, if the evening goes well, and you are amenable – I was planning to kiss you.” 

She blinked, and after a moment’s thought, said, “That would be acceptable. Now hurry, or we will miss the demonstration.” She turned and set off towards the identified stand.  

Leonard McCoy stared after her as a slow grin formed on his face. “Well. Lovely.”  

The meal was every bit as successful as McCoy had hoped it would be. The food – both Vulcan and Terran – had been remarkably good, and the conversation hadn’t stopped. The conference and fellow delegates had taken up most of the evening, but that conversation came to a natural close as they moved to sit near the window, which gave onto a glorious view of the nebula that the starbase had originally been built to study.  

T’Rena said, almost hopefully, “You have not told me of your latest adventures on the Enterprise.” She raised an almost teasing eyebrow at him. “I will not deem our conversation to be complete until I have heard an unlikely story of a visit to ancient Rome, or a ‘magical’ castle, or of some creature whose very existence is statistically improbable.” 

He laughed. “One of these days, I am going to make something up, just to see if you can tell.” 

She settled herself comfortably on the seat, and he sat near her, close enough to touch. She said lightly, “I have no doubt that you would be convincing.” 

“Actually, there was something – someone -” he hesitated, choosing his words with care, “- I wanted to tell you about. My paper isn’t complete, but – we met an empath. A totally functional empath.” He began to describe their experiences with Gem, careful to avoid any distressing detail, and keeping mainly to the facts of Gem’s extraordinary nervous system. He had expected to be peppered with questions throughout his narrative, but as he finished summarising Gem’s abilities, T’Rena had only asked two elucidating questions, then fallen silent.  

He stopped talking, then gave her a lopsided smile. “Well, I have to be honest, I thought you’d be gripped with this one. A fully functional empath? A new species? Isn’t this xenobiological Christmas?” 

She was looking at him curiously. After a moment, she said, “The person you have described does indeed sound fascinating, and I look forward to reading your paper.” 

McCoy frowned slightly, “But?” 

She fixed him with a gentle stare. “Leonard, what are you not telling me?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Your narrative was – not as usual.” 

“I - I don’t know what you mean.” 

She straightened the edge of her robe, then looked back at him. “Your narrative lacked two things that are usually present in the events you describe to me. A consistent internal logic, and your tendency to humourize elements for my amusement.”  

When he didn’t immediately speak, she said, “You have just relayed facts, and not attempted to entertain. From a Vulcan it would be expected, but from you it is – a little strange.” She looked as if it was also not entirely welcome. “And the actions of the Vians as you have described them make very little sense. Surely, to carry their highly unethical approach to its logical conclusion, they would need to inflict a great deal more suffering upon their subjects in order to obtain conclusive proof of Gem’s innate compassion.”  

She looked steadily at him, and he looked away, then sighed. “Alright, yes. I did – gloss over some detail, but honestly, we were all fine. They never touched Spock. Jim had a rough time of it, but -” 

“Your compassion for your friends is laudable, but my concern is not for them.” 

He was beginning to wish he’d never brought the subject up. Only the fact that it would have seemed like a minor betrayal not to tell one of xenobiology’s foremost researchers about Gem and her people had stopped him from ignoring the whole thing. “T’Rena -”  

“What happened?” 

“Nothing happened, they -” 

“Please don’t do that.” Her voice was quiet.  

“Do what?” 

“Lie to me. If you do not wish to discuss it, I will of course honour your wish, but I would rather you did not lie to me.”  

There was a long moment of silence. 

Then he said, “They, erm, they needed – someone - to die.” Her intake of breath was audible, but he carried on, “Me, or Spock. Jim was in no state to make the decision, so I gave him a tranquiliser. Spock was insisting on going with them. So, I gave him one too.” He addressed his truncated narrative to the seat between them. “It was the final test – would Gem sacrifice herself, or let me die?” He swallowed. “It was goddamn  stupid  test. As if I would have let her die for me.” He looked away, towards the starfield beyond the windows. “She didn’t need to, in the end. The Vians fixed me up. Jim can be pretty persuasive, when he wants to be.” 

The starfield hung suspended before them, a glorious tapestry of nature’s finest art. McCoy became aware of a slight warmth and pressure against his hand, where it rested against the seat. He looked down. T’Rena’s hand was enclosing his wrist lightly, her delicate fingers warm against his skin. He looked up, and her eyes were wide and full of an emotion he hadn’t seen there before. She said, very quietly, “You are well? You are healed? Entirely?” 

He couldn’t take his eyes from her face. “Yes. I’m okay. I’m fine. We were all fine.”  

She nodded slowly. “You did an extraordinary thing, Leonard. I consider it an honour to call you friend.” She was transparently, painfully sincere, her emotions barely contained behind her careful Vulcan neutrality. He laid his other hand over hers, and forced a smile. “What, a crusty old country medico, his best years behind him, throwing his life away on a starship?” 

“That is nonsense. You are none of those things.”  

“I am old, you know. Older than you. I’m going grey.” 

She raised her other hand, and ran gentle fingers along his temple, grazing his hairline. “Yes, so I see. On my planet it is regarded as a sign of advanced wisdom.” 

He smiled, genuinely this time. Her touch was light, and careful. “Not in every case, surely.” 

That tiny, almost-smile came again. “In most.”  

As her hand began to fall away, drifting lightly down his cheek, he turned his head so that her fingers lightly grazed his lips. She gave a quick intake of breath. He raised his own hand, took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, and kissed the back of her fingers, lightly, reverently.  

She gasped, and withdrew her hand. All at once, the doctor in him surfaced, somewhat belatedly, and reminded him of the sensitivity of Vulcan hands, and the necessity to avoid unnecessary touching of same in any and all medical situations. Not that this was a medical situation, but still -  

He said quickly, “T’Rena, I’m sorry, that was – look, I’m from the south, we – that's courtesy, where I come from – I forgot about Vulcan - “ He’d been about to say more, but she had raised her hand again, and pressed her fingers, very lightly, against his lips.  

He stopped talking, and looked at her in surprise. “By Vulcan standards, Leonard, that was awfully forward of you, but - you did, after all, state your intent earlier.” She lowered her hand. But not, he noticed, very far. Just far enough to rest lightly against his own where he’d withdrawn it to his lap. 

He looked down at their joined hands, and she did the same, before looking back at him, and adding, shyly, “And - since you have already been so bold - “ she curled her fingers around his, replicating their position when he had lifted her hand.  

He smiled, and raised her hand again. He paused with it just in front of his face, so he was holding her gaze when her face changed – all the light, the warmth, the anticipation vanished as if it had never been, and in its place, a look of dawning horror. She gave a cry and snatched her hand away.  

He said, alarmed, “T’Rena?” 

Her hands had gone to her head, and the face she raised to his was pale, and her voice was broken, and panicked. “My sister.” She reached out, and held his arm in a grip so tight it was painful. “Something is wrong with my sister.” 

After a heart stopping few minutes, they eventually managed to get hold of someone at the temple, and T’Rena’s feeling was confirmed. T’Sha’al was injured, unconscious and in need of surgery. She was also not on Vulcan.  The temple was sending their best healers, but the starbase she’d been repatriated to was more than three days away from Vulcan at high warp.  

McCoy said, “What was she doing off world?”  

“The same as she did for Commander Spock, I would think.” T’Rena didn’t look at him, preoccupied with putting the meagre possessions she had travelled with back into her case. The ship that had been diverted to collect her was only hours away, and she was, McCoy noticed, barely restraining herself from pacing. “But I don’t understand why she was off world; she never travels without me.” 

“Maybe it was an emergency.” 

“Then someone should have travelled with her.” 

“Maybe they did. Maybe it was just – an accident.” 

“That wouldn’t have happened if I'd been there.” Her voice was harsh.  

McCoy said gently, “You can’t know that.” 

“I think the previous decades in my company where she has avoided serious injury are a fairly clear indication.” T’Rena’s voice was tight.  

McCoy changed the subject. “Did they say what surgery is required?” 

“No, only that her mind is unharmed, but there was significant injury to her chest, her heart - that without it, she –“ she broke off. “My sister is very strong. All will be well. But I would wish they were closer. Three days is –“ she stopped again. McCoy couldn’t help noticing she’d made four attempts to fold the same robe. 

“There’s no-one else who can do it?” 

“No, the healing was to the mind of our ambassador to Tellar. There are no Vulcans with the necessary surgical expertise any closer.” 

McCoy said, carefully, “Would they have to be – Vulcan?” 

T’Rena said impatiently, “Well, of course they -” then abruptly stopped folding. After a moment she turned to him, wide –eyed. “Leonard.  You .” 

He said, “It wouldn’t be ideal, but if I came with you, we’d be there a day and a half ahead of them, and if she took a turn whilst we were waiting for -” 

‘But we need not wait – you know Vulcan anatomy – you could –“ 

He held up a hand. “I’m familiar with Spock’s anatomy, but I do know how he differs from Vulcan norms so in theory, yes, depending on her injuries, but -” 

“Please Leonard. Please come.”  

“I will, of course, I will, but –“ whatever else he would have said was lost as she crossed the room, threw her arms around him, held him tightly for the space of a breath, then straightened, and returned to her packing without another word.  

Starbase 15, 25th February 2269  

Leonard McCoy was a renowned field surgeon, and he’d been braced for anything, but these were hardly field conditions. The starbase had a very well equipped, modern sickbay, and he had a well-trained, if inexperienced, human surgical assistant, and an experienced Andorian nurse. Overall, far from the worst conditions he’d operated in. He’d spent the entire journey reading and rereading T’Sha’als medical history, in the hopes he wouldn’t need to know it. T’Rena’s sister now held the distinguished position of being the only other Vulcan whose physiology and medical history he had practically committed to memory.  

It had been obvious, from almost the moment he’d laid eyes on her, that T’Sha’al wouldn’t survive until the Vulcan ship arrived, an opinion that was shared by the young CMO of the starbase, who upon learning that Doctor Leonard McCoy was on his starbase, and had Vulcan – even half Vulcan – surgical experience, had almost hugged him in relief.  

He had left T’Rena, whose efforts to disguise her anxiety were making his heart ache, outside the sickbay, with assurance that he would contact her as soon as there was any news, then immediately done his best to banish her entirely from his mind. This was a patient. No more – or less – important than any other patient.  

And the surgery had – to his intense relief – gone well. There was always that risky post-surgery period when any complications might reveal themselves, but T’Rena had been right about her sister’s resilience. T’Sha’al seemed determined to live. Which, apart from robust health, was one of Leonard McCoy’s favourite qualities in a patient. And there was now less than twenty-hours until the Vulcan healers arrived.  

He entered the waiting room to find T’Rena sitting on one of the plain chairs, her head in her hands. She looked smaller, and more delicate, than he’d ever seen her. She stood immediately on his entrance, and he said quickly, “It went well. You were right – she's strong. The next thirty-six hours will be crucial but if all goes well, I’m - hopeful for a full recovery.”  

T’Rena stared at him for so long he wondered if she’d heard. Then she made a noise like a sob, and sank back into the chair, bringing her hands back to her face, and breathing hard.  

He said, gently, “T’Rena.” and took a step towards her. She waved a hand to indicate he should stay away. He stopped. After a few moments, she stood again, and her face was as neutral as he had ever seen it. She said, with quiet dignity, “Doctor McCoy, I thank you for your intervention. My sister and I owe you a debt.”  

He blinked at her in surprise. “T’Rena, of course you don’t , I-” 

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “These past months, as our friendship has grown closer, have been most – edifying. However, that must cease with immediate effect. I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and my duties at the temple are profoundly incompatible with any serious relationship outside of it.” 

McCoy stared at her. He was tired from the lengthy surgery, and still partially focussed on his patient, but even so he’d heard enough variations on this speech to make his heart tighten involuntarily at her words. After a moment, he said, hesitantly, “T’Rena, are you saying you don’t even want to be - friends?” 

“I think that would be – difficult. And there is – little need.” She took a steadying breath. “Now, please, may I see my sister?” 

USS Enterprise, 28th February 2269  

When McCoy materialised, Spock was waiting for him.  

McCoy said dully, “Welcoming committee. Lucky me.” 

Spock inclined his head. “Welcome back, Doctor. The Captain has informed me of your detour to starbase fifteen, and the reason for it. On behalf of all Vulcan, thank you for your service to Healer T’Sha’al.” 

McCoy sighed as he stepped down. “Yes, yes, the healers who came for her said the same. Briefly. Then ordered me out. Thanks human, but you’re done. Well, you’re welcome, now if you don’t mind, it’s been a long trip, and I just want to crash out.” 

He strode past the Enterprise’s first officer without another word. Spock stared after him with what was almost a frown.  

McCoy dropped his bag, and stared around his quarters. Nothing had changed since he left them, but somehow everything felt different. He’d left them anticipatory, and with a hope for the future that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He was returning exhausted, with an empty feeling in body and soul. He felt like he’d been tired for months.  

He walked to his computer, reached down to activate it, then hesitated. He knew what work awaited him. Anything urgent would have been notified to him already. He had to review the results of the annual physicals on the senior staff, but that could wait until tomorrow.  

He pulled off his shoes, shirt and trousers, and crawled into bed with no further ceremony. He just needed a good night’s sleep.  

But in spite of his exhaustion, sleep refused to come. He heard her voice: I consider it an honour to call you friend.  Saw her face, alight with warmth, with promise and anticipation. And then her distant, neutral expression in the waiting room at the starbase. If she was human, he would have put it down to shock, given her some space, and considered contacting her again. It would have been worth a try a least. But T’Rena was Vulcan. Her words had been considered, and delivered without emotion. He had never seen her so - detached.  

He turned onto his other side. It was over. And that was fine. He’d been fine without her. He’d be fine without her again. He’d been alone for a long time. He was used to it. It was better this way. He buried his face in his pillow, ignored the ache in his heart, and waited for sleep to claim him.  

Mount Seleya Temple Complex, Vulcan, Terran Calendar, 3rd March 2269  

T’Sha’al sighed as she listened to her sister rearranging something in her room. She was resisting the urge to tell her to stop fussing. It had only taken the slightest touch of her sister’s hand to learn how terrified she had been. How perilous T’Sha’al’s own situation had been.  

She knew that self-blame was illogical when one’s intent and motives had been correct, but she nevertheless felt responsible for her sister’s anxiety. She had insisted on travelling offworld, insisted that no other be sent. She had been hoping to prove to T’Rena that it was not necessary for her to remain at the temple for her sister. That if there was any reason, in the future, for her sister to move offworld, perhaps involving a human doctor of their starfleet, then she would be fine. Instead, she had, in T’Rena’s eyes at least, proved the exact opposite.  

T’Sha’al had explained, at length, how her presence would have made no difference, how the attack on the ambassador's residence by a rogue Tellarite sect would have happened with or without her. How she would, in all likelihood, have been injured too. It had, so far, fallen on deaf ears. But she could sense, through their bond, and through her sister’s careful touch, that T’Rena’s anxiety had lessened. That T'Sha'al's obvious recovery was reassuring her, restoring some of her usual peace of mind.  

So perhaps it was time to ask the question that had been bothering her since they had left the starbase. She said, “T’Rena.” 

Her sister turned immediately towards her, “Yes, ko-kai, do you need anything?” 

“No, I am well, thank you. Come and sit with me.” 

T’Sha’al heard her sister’s footsteps, and the slight scrape of the chair next to the bed. T’Rena did not, however, take her hand. Her sister had been very carefully avoiding all but the most necessary physical contact since the starbase. They had always been physically close, and her deliberate distance, especially now, was unnerving. She was also shielding quite strongly. Most people did in T’Sha’al’s presence, especially if they knew of her abilities, but T’Rena did not. They had never had secrets from each other. T’Rena trusted her sister to not invade her privacy, and T’Sha’al never violated that trust. But something was wrong, and, if only for her own peace of mind, T’Sha’al needed to find out what.  

She reached out her hand towards where she knew her sister to be. There was a long pause, and then she felt T’Rena’s hand take hers. Very lightly, and carefully. She gave it a reassuring squeeze.  

“What is wrong?” 

T’Rena withdrew her hand immediately, and T’Sha’al felt an unexpected stab of panic. When she had awoken on the starbase, in an utterly strange environment, in pain, unable to move, filled with minds she did not know, she had been thrown back to her childhood, before she had mastered her abilities. As a young child in permanent darkness, her mind constantly invaded by unknowing strangers, in a world designed for the sighted and those whose telepathy depended on touch, she had been often afraid. Only her sister’s reassuring, grounding presence, was a constant, a safe haven. Somewhere she could always turn. Having it taken away now was – more unsettling than she unexpected.  

She said, trying to keep her voice steady, “Please, pi’ko’kai.” She held her hand out again, felt it taken. Something of her distress must have communicated itself, because T’Rena said suddenly, “T’Sha’al, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to – I'm sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologise for, but you are – distant. I know how worried you were, but all will be well. My recovery will be complete.” She squeezed her sister’s hand again, hoping to reassure.  

“I know. You are doing so well, even T’Lar is pleased.”  

T’Sha’al almost smiled. Vulcan’s revered high priestess could be somewhat overbearing at the best of times and with an injury to her most valued protégée, had become almost unbearably so.  

“Well, that is a relief.” She felt her sister’s amusement, but it was shortlived.  

“I’m sorry, T’Sha’al. But I just wasn’t ready to talk about it, and I knew you would want to.” 

“Talk about what?” She hadn’t felt the desire to simply read her sister’s mind without permission so acutely since they were children.  

T’Rena said firmly, “I did what had to be done. I – oh, just - look .” Images, thoughts, feelings, began to flash through T’Sha’al’s mind, with none of her sister’s usual careful filtering.  

Herself, and Doctor McCoy, on the starbase, at their conference, listening, talking, enjoying each other’s company. In depth discussions on points common to their professional interests that T’Sha’al had no hope of following, but that delighted her sister. Doctor McCoy addressing the conference, T’Rena’s pride at his popularity, his expertise, at being his companion, his suggestion of time alone, her pleasurable anticipation, her nerves, the two of them together, her distress at his last mission, then the extraordinary sensation of her hand in his, his lips soft and warm against her hand - 

T’Sha’al was about to suggest that perhaps she did not need this level of detail, when the tone changed so quickly she gasped. Pain. Fear. Her own injury, seen from her sister’s mind. The images came faster then, more disjointed. Contacting the temple. Packing. A moment with Doctor McCoy went by too quickly for her to parse it. Travel to the starbase. Herself, pale and clearly very ill, her sister’s barely contained anxiety and grief. McCoy again, talking to another human doctor, his face grave.  T’Rena’s plea for him to operate on her, and his agreement.  He had little choice.  

Then an extended period of dull, grey, nothingness, as T’Rena fought her own fear, and waited. Then McCoy again –  how tired he looks  – and her sister’s words to him. The strained atmosphere between them in the hours before the Vulcan healers arrived, and his almost summary dismissal, to which T’Rena did not object.  

Then the images blurred once more into a messy mix of worry – sister- home – anxiety – safe - and she felt T’Rena shielding again, but more lightly than before.  

T’Sha’al took a long, slow breath. “Leonard – saved my life?” 

Her sister’s voice was quiet. “Yes.” 

“I must thank him.” 

“Yes.” 

She took her sister’s hand in both of hers. “I know why you did what you did. But I will not be the cause of your unhappiness.” 

“I am -” 

“Listen to me. You know what happened on Tellar was an accident. I am glad you were not there. You could have been killed. If and when you chose to leave here, for whatever reason, I will be fine. You know this, T’Rena, in your heart. I am not the only reason you chose to stay. You are afraid.” She felt her sister’s desire to deny it, and continued quickly. “I do not blame you. His life is very different to ours. He is human, with all their passion and emotion, so close to the surface, and all that that entails. But he is a  good  man, T’Rena. And you love him, do you not?” 

Her sister made a noise like a sob. “I was – unkind.” 

“You were distressed. And worried for me. He will understand.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“Yes. Call the Enterprise. Tell him that I am well, and very grateful to him. And explain your actions. Then see how he responds. I think – all may not as hopeless as you fear.” 

USS Enterprise  

Leonard McCoy stared at the computer screen. Around him, the sounds and sights of sickbay faded to a dull haze. He couldn’t see anything except the words on the screen. And brightest of all, the single word that had ended the world as he knew it:  

Xenopolycythemia  

He was going to die. Not decades from now, or even years, but months.  

All the other senior staff were fine. He’d left his own results until last, barely even glanced at them, he’d been so keen to go to Jim with a clean bill of health for the whole crew. And now he would have to tell him – this. He’d have to find the Enterprise a new CMO. He couldn’t leave the decision to Jim, or worse, Starfleet, he’d have to make him a shortlist, he’d have to vet - 

The comm interface on his desk beeped, and he jumped, stared at it in confusion.  

Uhura’s voice come over the intercom, “Bridge to Doctor McCoy.” 

He reached for it: automatic movement, automatic response. “McCoy here.” 

Uhura sounded like she was trying to keep her voice down. Behind her, he could hear the usual hum of bridge activity, and distantly, Spock’s voice.  Life goes on.  She said, “I’ve got T’Rena for you, Doctor.” 

He felt a rush of relief, of hope, and he opened his mouth to respond, suddenly desperate for her calm good sense and quiet affection. Then he stopped. They were no longer – together. And of what use was the distant sympathy of a disinterested friend? He didn’t want it. And if he was wrong, if she was calling to suggest that she’d been hasty, that they recommence their relationship, then that was – worse. What kind of lover would he be to saddle her with the last few months of his life and ugly death?  

He said dully, “I’m sorry, Nyota, I’m – busy. I can’t take any calls now.” 

“Oh.” Her voice was surprised, “Shall I tell her to call back?” 

“No.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded choked. “No, don’t tell her that.” He reached across and snapped the comm link closed.  

He stared again at the words on the screen. They hadn’t changed. A noise at the door made him look up. Chapel stood there, pale and clearly distressed. For a moment, he wondered why. Then he remembered: she’d been reviewing the same results as him. She took a step towards him.  

He said, quickly, “Chris, please don’t, just - don’t.”  

*  

USS Enterprise, Terran Calendar: 16th March 2269  

“So what do you think?” Kirk addressed this to his CMO, seated across the desk. “We’ll be camping, obviously, but the place is lovely – plenty of walks, rock climbing, fishing,” he gestured at his science officer, standing at his side, “various things of scientific interest – Spock insisted – and you know, plenty of time to just sit, read, relax, whatever we like. Come on, Bones, it’ll be great.”  

McCoy rose. “It sounds great. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.” He made to leave.  

Kirk said, “You’re not coming?”  

“No, thanks. Too much to do here.” He headed for the door again.  

Spock began, “I am quite certain that -” 

McCoy turned on them both. “I said  no. Just accept it, will you?” He walked out, leaving Kirk and Spock to exchange concerned glances.  

After a moment, Spock said, “I understand your concern. That is a higher level of irascibility than usual, even for the doctor.” 

“And he’s been like this for weeks. After Gem, I thought he was just stressed. But then he went to that conference, and if anything, he was worse when he got back, then the xenopolycythemia, and Natira, but they parted on good terms, and he’s perfectly healthy – I checked with Chapel. And yet -” he gestured after McCoy. “And he won’t talk to me outside of work. Keeps making excuses, and blowing me off.” 

Spock said, “It is unlike the Doctor to maintain a negative mood for any length of time without communicating it to others. He usually expends his energy in an effort to let people know if they have displeased him.”  

Kirk nodded. In spite of the situation, there was a small part of his brain that was glad to be standing next to Spock, talking about something other than duty. For all that it was hard to watch his friend in distress, McCoy’s illness and subsequent low mood had served to bring them back together as a personal, as well as professional, team. He said aloud, “Exactly.”  

Spock said thoughtfully, “I will admit to being surprised by the doctor’s actions on Yonada. You had previously informed me that you believed him to have an interest in Healer T’Sha’al’s sister, T’Rena. And yet he was very quick to involved himself with Natira.”  

“Well, he did think he was dying, that would -” Kirk frowned, turned to his first officer. “Actually, scratch that, you’re right. He was quick. And he did like T'Rena, I'm sure he did. Blushed like a nova when I brought it up. But he never mentioned her after the conference. Not once. And I asked him. He got all cagey. I thought he was just - being a gentleman.” 

“When I greeted the doctor in the transporter room after the conference with T’Rena, and his surgery on Healer T’Sha’al, he was – quite abrupt. I attributed it to tiredness, and illogical annoyance at the Vulcans who took over her care.” 

Kirk frowned. “Do you think they split up? After he saved her sister’s life? I mean – that doesn’t seem likely.” 

“And yet, the doctor is not happy.” 

“To say the least. It has been stressful few months, especially for Bones. Maybe he just needs more time. Maybe -” 

A polite cough from the doorway interrupted him. Both men turned.  

At the door, Uhura and Chapel regarded them with raised eyebrows. Uhura said, “Sirs, far be it from us to interrupt a private conversation, but we couldn’t help hearing you mention the doctor, and T’Rena. So, if this is the committee to reconcile the doctor with his lady, then you’re a little late. We already formed it.” 

Kirk blinked. “Reconcile? You mean, they did split up?” He looked to Spock, who looked equally lost, then back to the women. “Then I don’t suppose you have any more insight than we do as to what happened? Or any ideas how to put it right?” 

Uhura and Chapel exchanged a glance, then Chapel gestured to the chairs opposite McCoy’s desk. “Captain, Commander, sit down. We’re going to need your help.”  

Notes:

Up next:
The reconciliation committee put their plan into action.
The Captain is declared dead (I mean it this time!)
The Enterprise encounters the Platonians, and Kirk and Spock are forced to confront their unspoken desires.

Chapter 18: A Glimpse of Truth

Summary:

Scenes set before and after the Tholian Web

Scenes set during and after Plato's Stepchildren

Notes:

I can't believe we're so close to the end now! Argh!!

Balance of opinion in the comments seemed to be that, well, more is more, so I guess there's going to be a First, Best Destiny Part Two. Wow, I'm a glutton for punishment. :)

Seriously though, thank you so, so much to everyone who has left supportive comments. It means a lot, and it really does keep me going, and I love you all for it! <3 <3

And another massive virtual hug to my beta, manekikat, who continues to ensure that my scribblings actually make sense! xxxx

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

USS Enterprise, 21st March, 2269    

As the transporter beam deposited herself and T’Sha’al on the Enterprise's transporter padd, T’Rena breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was not here. That was good. HIs presence would have been – somewhat difficult, despite her vow to banish the entire relationship from her mind. The relapse in the mental condition of S'chn T’gai Spock had been unfortunate, but she knew her sister’s professional loyalty to those she healed, and so had not been surprised when T’Sha’al had insisted upon their visit to the Enterprise. It would be brief, however, and there was a good chance she would not have to see him at all.   

Spock himself, and his Captain, were waiting for them, and Kirk greeted them warmly. They exchanged pleasantries, and commenced the walk to T’Sha’al’s assigned quarters. Her sister, rather to her surprise, had taken Spock’s arm from the transporter padd, and was walking behind with him, leaving her to walk with Kirk.   

He was saying, “I hope you don’t mind, ma’am, there won’t be time for a tour this time, I’m needed on the bridge, but I’ve assigned you some quarters to wait in, if that’s alright. Spock seemed to think this wouldn’t take long.”  

She barely disguised the relief in her voice. “That will be fine, thank you, Captain Kirk.” The last thing she wanted was to be wandering around the ship.   

After a brief trip in the turbolift, and another identical corridor, they stopped outside a set of doors. Kirk activated the chime, and a female voice said, “Come in.”   

The doors opened, and T’Rena’s heart rate, already high, jumped again.   

Leonard was there.  

He was standing next to a seated woman who she recognised as Nyota Uhura, the communications lead on the Enterprise. He was flanked by a blonde woman she didn’t recognise, and holding a medical tricorder. He was saying, “Chris, these readings look fine to me, are you sure -”   

Then he looked up. There was a silence, then Nyota said, “Do you know, I am feeling much better, but maybe we should go to sickbay, Chris. Just in case.” She rose, and the blonde woman took her arm, escorting her out.   

Kirk said smoothly, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise there would be anyone here. But I’m sure the doctor won’t object.” He gestured ahead of him, and politeness obliged her to take a step forward, into the room.   

McCoy hadn’t moved, or taken his eyes off her, but now he looked at his Captain, said quietly, “Jim, what -”  

Kirk said brightly, “Spock has been feeling a bit under the weather, and Healer T’Sha’al was kind enough to agree to another visit.” He gestured to the corridor, and she saw McCoy’s eyes follow the move, and light on her sister, who also stepped into the room, extending her hand to McCoy. He took it automatically, and she said warmly, “Doctor McCoy. I cannot express my gratitude. You saved my life, and allowed me to continue my work.”  

“I was just doing my job, ma’am, but it is wonderful to see you looking so well.”  

“I am well, thanks to you.” T’Sha’al was smiling at him, and McCoy’s face, which had begun to register irritation, and concern, had relaxed somewhat. T’Sha’al continued lightly, “As you already suspect, Spock is entirely well. His supposed illness was merely a ruse to bring my sister to the Enterprise."  

T’Rena said, shocked, “T’Sha’al!”  

She turned to her sister. “I am sorry, T’Rena. And we are all aware,” she had released McCoy’s hand, and her gesture encompassed Kirk and Spock, standing behind her, looking unrepentantly complicit, “that the future, or otherwise, or your relationship is entirely up to the two of you, but we felt that it would be wrong to allow it to end on a misunderstanding, and as you are both stubborn, an element of subterfuge was necessary.”  

She extended her hand to Spock, and he stepped into the room, and took it, taking her arm to escort her. Kirk followed them, after a glance to McCoy, who was still looking after T’Sha’al.   

As McCoy did not seem inclined to speak, T’Rena said, “T’Sha’al, this is - highly illogical.” And then, because she couldn’t not know, “What misunderstanding?”  

Her sister stopped outside the door, and after tilting her head in McCoy’s direction, said quietly, “Leonard refused your calls because he was dying, and wished to spare you.”  

She stepped away from the door, and it closed behind them.   

*  

T’Rena turned to McCoy in immediate anxiety. “Leonard, you are -”  

He said quickly, “No, no, I'm not, we found a cure, I'm fine.”   

“Why did you not tell me?”  

He stared at her. “Because you had made it quite clear that we weren’t even going to be friends, so what would have been the point?”  

She said sharply, “Because I called. I called to tell you that I was wrong – that I was - I was worried about my sister, and – and afraid, and I called to tell you -  I was sorry.” She stopped, and when McCoy continued to stare, said desperately, “She is my sister. We have only ever had each other – I was afraid that if I left her, she would be lost without me, but - she has convinced me that she would be well if I were to - pursue a relationship elsewhere.” The torrent of words came to a stop, and she heaved a breath.  

McCoy said slowly, “You were calling to say to you wanted to be friends again.”  

She nodded. “Yes. And –“ she swallowed, added, “and more, if – if you were amenable. But you refused my calls.”   

“I thought I was dying. I didn’t want to inflict that on you.”  

“But why not?”  

“Because I had less than a year to live. It was xenopolycythemia, T’Rena. It wouldn’t have been pretty.”  

“I would have stayed with you.”  

“I couldn’t have asked you to do that.”  

“You need not have asked.” She began to pace. “But - when you realised you were cured, why did you not contact me then?”  

“Because my illness made me realise how – selfish I was being.”   

She stopped and blinked at him in confusion. “Why were you being selfish?”  

McCoy ran a hand through his hair. “Why?” He gestured to her. “Because you are young, T’Rena, and smart, and kind, and beautiful, and you could have another century of life ahead of you. And I don’t want you to throw the best of those years away on a clapped-out old medic whose best years are behind him, and who might have less than half that left. You’ll still be young and perfect when I’m old and decrepit. I can’t ask that of you. It isn’t fair.”  

T’Rena said sharply, “It is nothing to do with fairness. That is – that is - illogical.  First, because the decision as to whom I spend my life with is mine, not yours, and second, because it is based on the completely false assumption that I would rather spend my entire life with someone else, than a part of it with you.”   

McCoy opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, and swallowed. After a moment, he said, “Really?”  

She had looked, momentarily, as if she would wish to call the comment back, but now she raised her chin firmly. “Yes. In fact, I had already considered the relative difference in our lifespans, and judged it unimportant.”  

“You’d thought about us - together? For a long time?”  

“Of course.”   

“Oh.”  

She said, suddenly anxious, “You had not?”   

“Yes, but I thought it was just - the foolish fancy of a lonely man.”  

She said, painfully sincere, “Leonard - it was not.”   

Silence fell, as she swallowed in turn, then said, “Do you have any other illogical objections to our relationship?”  

“That - that was the big one, I’ll be honest.”  

“Good, so now it is discussed, may we return to our previous status?"  

“You mean be together? Romantically?”   

“Yes,” she said. Then added quickly, “I have researched human custom in this area. When couples meet romantically prior to engagement it is known as dating. I would be your girlfriend. When the word is elided in that way, it carries romantic connotations, as opposed to simply having a girl who is a friend.”  

He couldn't stop his smile. “Yes. I know.”  

Silence fell as they looked at each other. She was doing that smiling with her eyes thing that he loved, and had thought he wouldn’t see again. He supposed he was smiling like a bit of a fool, but she didn’t seem to mind.   

T’Rena shifted, and said, a little hesitantly, “So, since we are now formally dating, then, perhaps, in the circumstances, it would be appropriate for you to - kiss me again.”   

McCoy blinked. “I - would definitely say so, yes. Sounds eminently logical to me.”  

“Excellent. I am glad we concur.” She took a step closer to him, and raised the first two fingers of her right hand.  McCoy stepped forward in turn, and raised his hand to match hers. He had seen Spock’s parents do this, so the gesture was not wholly a surprise. She touched her fingers to his, running them lightly, up and down, either side of his. The sensation was oddly arousing, but it was nothing compared to the glow it evoked in T’Rena. She looked at him with a smile she could barely disguise.   

He said, “Was that right?”  

She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”   

He smiled again. “Definitely no thanks necessary.” He looked at their joined fingers and added, cautiously, “Would you be interested in – trying this the human way?”  

She looked at him a little anxiously. He said, quickly, “We don’t have to. It’s fine.”  

She shook her head. “No, I – I would like to, but -” she hesitated, then the words tumbled over themselves so rapidly he almost missed them, “but I don’t really know how it is done, I’ve seen pictures, of course, and I’ve always wondered - is it not a little – unhygienic?”  

“Well, to deal with the second point, I’ve not usually found it so, and I assure you I’m very hygienic - “  

T’Rena looked horrified. “I did not mean to imply - “  

He smiled at her mortified face, and waved a hand, “It’s fine. Legitimate question. And don’t worry about not knowing how it’s done – I could take the lead. For the first time.”   

She nodded. “Yes. Very well. What do I do?”  

McCoy ran hand across his face. There was a certain amount of pressure involved in the analysis of every single step of this particular dance. He said, “Just stand there. Relax. That’s fine. I’ll do the, er, heavy lifting here.” He smiled encouragingly again.   

She looked alarmed. “There is lifting? Leonard, I know I am not tall, but Vulcan physiology -"

“No!” McCoy raised a hand. “There’s no lifting. I’m sorry. It was a figure of speech.”  

“Ah. A metaphor.”  

“Yes.”   

“Very well. Proceed.”  

He stepped closer, laid a gentle hand on her arm, and one under her chin, raising her face lightly to his, lent towards her, then stopped.   

“T’Rena.”  

“Yes, Leonard?”  

“Close your eyes.”  

She did so obediently, and he closed the remaining space between them and pressed his closed lips chastely to hers. After a moment, he drew back. She stood in place, as instructed, eyes still closed.   

“You can open your eyes.”  

She opened them, and blinked at him in surprise. “It is complete?”   

“Well, yes, I suppose so.”  

She made humming noise of consideration. “That was not - unpleasant.”  

“Good?”  

“I understood it to be more – involved.”  

“Well, that was a first step. I didn’t want to rush things. Wait - involved how, exactly?”  

“I have seen a number of examples in human art. There are many such books in the Temple. The most famous example is, I believe, Rodin’s sculpture, The Kiss, as well as the twenty-second century -”  

McCoy held up a hand. “Okay. T’Rena, this - this really isn’t a book thing. It’s a you and me thing. We just – figure out what feels right. Together.”   

She considered this. “Very well. I believe I would like to embrace whilst kissing. It features heavily in the art I have seen. May we try that?”  

McCoy couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Yes. Absolutely we can.” He raised his arms and she stepped between them, sliding her own around his neck. He pulled her lightly against him and looked down at her face mere millimetres from his own. “Is this okay?”  

She said, a little impatiently, “Close your eyes, Leonard.” He barely had time to comply before she had pressed her lips to his. He adjusted his hold to support her against him, and beneath the arm around her waist, he could feel her heart racing. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the part of him that was always a doctor thought distantly, Vulcan anatomy. The rest of him focussed on tilting his head to fit their lips together more easily. T’Rena made a little noise of approval, before pressing herself more firmly against him. Encouraged, he drew back slightly, and teased her lips with his own, kissing along her lip line and along her cheek to her throat.   

She made a noise like a sigh, and he stopped, raising his head to take in her expression. “Is this – alright?”   

“Yes. It is – very nice.” She smiled at him then, a little shy, and unused, but wholly and unmistakeably a smile. He couldn’t resist leaning forward to kiss it, and she made a noise that was – very nearly - a giggle.   

“How’s the hygiene situation feeling?”  

She fixed him with a firm look, which was somewhat undermined by her smile. “You are teasing me.”  

“A little, yes.”   

Her smile grew wider, and she said archly. “I shall inform you if it becomes a concern.”   

“Good, I –“  

He’d meant to keep teasing her, but something in her face stopped the words in his throat. She was looking at him so trustingly, so openly, throwing aside her Vulcan reserve, for him. Risking this vulnerability, for him.   

He said, suddenly, passionately, “T’Rena, I – won’t let you down. I promise you that.”   

She blinked at him in surprise. “I know that, Leonard.”  

“It’s just – I’ve been on my own for a while now. Got a bit – set in my ways, I suppose, and I –“  

She made a noise that could have been a laugh, and he said, “What?”  

“I have been on my own – from a certain perspective – all of my life. If your ways are set, then my ways must be – immovable.” She gave him a shy smile.   

All his hopes, and fears, and years of loneliness seized his heart in a sudden rush of affection, and he pulled her into a tight embrace, his cheek against her hair. She came willingly, burying her face in his neck and tightening her grip on him.   

“Look, I’ve never been great at the – the long-term part. My previous relationships haven't ended that well –“ his voice choked in his throat.   

Then he felt her breath on his skin as she said quietly, “And I have no experience at all, but to paraphrase a wise man, this isn’t an experience thing. This is a - you and me - thing. We shall just - do what feels right. Together.”   

Uhura sat on a biobed, swinging her legs absently. Christine was standing next to her, leaning against the edge of the bed. They were both watching the door. 

Nyota said, “I hope it’s going well.”  

Chris said dryly. ”Me too. Or I might be fired.” 

Uhura smiled. “No, you won’t. Our intentions were good. He’ll appreciate that.” 

“Eventually.”  

Uhura said soothingly. “They’ll be fine. You heard them together, they must have been the only two people who  couldn’t  see how great they were for each other.” 

Chris gave a hesitant laugh, and glanced at her friend. “Yeah, it’s, er, it’s funny how sometimes you’re the last to know, isn’t it?”  

Uhura met her eye, and the air between them seemed to change. She opened her mouth to speak, when the door to sickbay opened, and they both jumped.  

M'Benga said, “Still no Len?” 

The two women shook their heads.  

M'Benga sighed. “Well I hope they sort it out, he could use a sensible influence. Right, I’ll be in the lab if anyone needs me.” He turned and left without another word, leaving Uhura and Chapel in their suddenly awkward silence.  

T'Sha'al sat in light meditation at the table in Spock’s quarters. Across from her, at the desk, Captain Kirk and Commander Spock were engaged in quiet conversation about ship’s business.  

The atmosphere between them was not as it had been on her last visit. The bond between them, even unrealised as it was, was seeping into their day to day relationship, bringing them closer, easing the loneliness of them both. It seemed stronger. They must have melded again.  She wondered, with fond amusement, what professional excuse had been found, and why they were trying quite so hard to pretend their mutual emotional connection did not exist. The mental energy involved in that level of denial felt exhausting, even from the point of view of an observer. Its continuation was essentially untenable. She wondered how long it would be before one or both of them could deny it no longer.  

She was debating if it would be appropriate for her to say something to Spock on the subject, when an unexpected surge of joy made her gasp.  

Both men looked at her, suddenly alert. She said, “My apologies. I was – not shielding sufficiently. And she is – very close.” 

They exchanged glances, then Kirk said, “Er, Ma’am?” 

T'Sha’al said with a small smile. “I believe my sister and Doctor McCoy have overcome their misunderstandings.” 

Even without her sight, she knew Kirk was beaming, and Spock was quietly pleased. 

Kirk said sincerely, “That’s brilliant news. Honestly, I think they were the only two who couldn’t see how good they were together.”  

Spock said warmly, “Indeed. Given their compatibility, not pursuing a relationship between them would be almost illogical.” 

It took all of T'Sha'al's Vulcan discipline not to gape in disbelief at them both.  

USS Enterprise, 14th April, 2269  

As many crew as could be spared from duty had crammed into the ship’s small assembly room. Even to his own ears, Spock’s voice had sounded hollow as it echoed around the space. 

"I shall not attempt to voice the quality of respect and admiration which Captain Kirk commanded. Each of you must evaluate the loss in the privacy of your own thoughts. 

And now he was stood next to a grief-stricken McCoy, as his Captain’s final words hung in the air in the empty silence of his quarters. Jim had foreseen that they would disagree. Had known that grief, and difficult circumstance, would drive a wedge between them.  

McCoy said, and all the fight was gone from his voice, “Spock, I - I'm sorry. It does hurt, doesn’t it?”  

Spock said, dully, “What would you have me say, Doctor?” 

Before the doctor could respond, the intercom whistled and Spock moved to it. Scotty’s voice said, “Mister Spock, we have a readout on the Tholian tractor field. I think we can estimate its approximate completion time.” 

Spock said briefly, “I shall be there shortly,” then closed the connection and turned to McCoy. “Doctor, I believe we each have our respective tasks to complete before the Tholians complete theirs.” 

McCoy nodded slowly, and walked to the door. As he reached it, he turned. “Spock, just so you know, if we can’t have Jim back, there’s no-one else I’d rather have in command, than you.”  

Before Spock could respond, he had turned and left.  

Spock watched the closed door for a long moment. McCoy, for all his unnecessary, overly emotional approach, had been right in one particular – leaving this space and ensuring the safety of the ship would have been an entirely logical course of action. Instead, they were still here. Risking the safety of the entire crew on the potential survival of one man. It was not logical. It would be different if he could be certain that Kirk lived. His own reactions were also a source of – concern.  

He had expected – grief. Anger. Loss. For all his Vulcan upbringing he was not naïve enough to suppose the loss of his t'hy’la would pass without considerable emotional cost. And yet he felt comparatively well. He was experiencing symptoms of anxiety, and stress – to be expected in the circumstances – but no greater grief. Almost as if his mind had not accepted the likelihood of Kirk's death. 

A thought occurred to him. He moved to his meditation mat, sat down and closed his eyes. He centered himself quickly, then began to sink beneath his own conscious awareness to where his bond with Jim lived, a place he rarely allowed himself to visit. It should, by all logic, be dimmed. Empty. Bereft. But it was not.  

The golden warmth that spoke of Jim existed still. Spock felt a surge of relief, of joy. It was all he could do not to throw himself towards it, embrace it, gather it close. Jim lived. He took his focus reluctantly back to his breathing. After a long moment he opened his eyes. His T'hy'la lived. Whilst he lived, he could be rescued. And for now, the Enterprise was safe. They had time. It was a gamble he was sure Jim would have taken.  

He rose, and walked to the bridge with more certainty than he had felt in many hours.  

The Defiant was gone. His only company now was the readout on his spacesuit, ticking with soul destroying precision down to the end of his oxygen supply, and subsequent death.  

He forced himself to breathe slowly, shallowly. Conserve oxygen. Don’t panic. He had time. And more importantly, Spock had time. To figure this out. To find him.  

He had rarely felt so helpless. There was nothing here. Nothing he could do to help.  

Another minute ticked away. He had never known time move so slowly, yet slip away so fast. 

This is how I die.   

He breathed away the thought. It had been a dream. A nightmare. One he had had a very long time ago. Not one that should bother him now. An adult. A Captain.  

I’ve always known, I’ll die alone.   

Keep breathing. Focus. Think about the ship. Think about Spock.   

Spock 

God, what if this is it? I should have said something. At least been brave enough to ask. What if we are serving together? We won’t always be. If – when, when I get out of this, I’ll speak to him. See if there’s – any chance. Any chance for – us, together. I can’t just let him drift away because I was too afraid to ruin what we had.   

As the doors to his quarters closed, Kirk’s good mood and energy seemed to fall away so quickly that Spock looked to him in concern. His Captain had been to sickbay, received a clean bill of health from McCoy, then insisted, against both of their objections, in going to the bridge. He’d finished his shift with McCoy hovering over him like a mother hen. And of course, they’d then lied to him about viewing the final orders. He had a strong suspicious that Kirk was aware of that particular subterfuge, but it seemed far from the Captain’s mind now.  

They were off duty, and alone, so he said cautiously, “Jim. Is – all well?”  

Kirk seemed to stir. “Yes. Well – no. Not entirely. Spock, I –“ he broke off. “Okay, first things first. You did brilliantly today. I mean, I don’t expect anything less from you, but you got the ship out of there safely, and the knowledge we'll be sending to Starfleet about the Tholians and their weaponry is going to pretty much neutralise them as a threat for the foreseeable future. Well done.”  

Then he took a breath, and added, more quietly, “Strictly speaking, I suppose I should tell you that you shouldn’t have risked the ship on the mere chance that I might be alive but,” he shook his head, “I won’t lie, I’m really glad you did. I - didn’t want to die out there. Alone.”  

There was an odd vulnerability in his captain’s voice that Spock was unused to hearing. Kirk had looked away, down at the deck, so he stepped forward and laid a careful hand on his arm.  

“You were never alone, Jim. Your ship was always here. Waiting for the right moment to retrieve you.” 

Kirk met his gaze, and gave a small smile. “I don’t know one first officer in twenty who’d have taken that gamble, Spock. Thank you.” Then he reached up and covered Spock’s hand with his own. Their fingers slid together and Spock felt that seductive, beautiful, golden warmth flare to life in the neglected corner of his mind. Jim’s face was open, his expression soft, and Spock said quietly, “Jim, there is-“ at the same time as Kirk said, “Spock, there's something –“ 

They both stopped and stared at each other. Kirk gave a huff of laughter and dropped his hand. Spock did likewise. Kirk said, a little awkwardly, “You go first. My thing can wait.” 

Spock was suddenly, unaccountably, nervous. He swallowed, then said, “I did not risk the safety of the ship on a mere chance that you had survived. I knew that you lived.”  

Kirk looked at him in confusion. “You knew it?” 

“Yes.” 

“But how could you be sure?” 

“Because I –“ he hesitated “- I have an awareness of you that extends beyond your physical presence.”  

Kirk drew a breath. “Sorry, Spock, run that by me again. You’re aware of me, even when I’m not with you?” 

“Yes. It is a faint awareness, and requires considerable mental focus to access. I usually ensure that it is not accessible to my conscious mind, other than in your company, when it is – naturally - somewhat stronger.” 

“But why do you -?” Kirk began, then a horrible possibility seemed to occur to him. “Spock, is it because - we’ve melded?”  

Spock hesitated. After a moment, he said, “Partially, yes. I believe that was what activated my awareness of you.” 

Kirk inhaled quickly. “Spock, I’m sorry.” 

It was Spock’s turn to stare. “For what are you sorry?” 

Kirk began to pace. “Because melding has always been my idea. Because I – practically forced it on you, and now you’re stuck with this – awareness of me?”  

Spock said quickly, “Jim, no, this is not something that can be created by any number of melds. This bond existed already.” Kirk was frowning. He added quickly, “Please understand, I did not know of its existence. Had I been aware, I would have been far more careful with the joining of our minds.”  

Kirk said, almost breathlessly, “We have a bond ?” 

“No, it is a potential bond only. It has not been realised.” 

“Oh. And you didn’t know about it.” 

“I did not.”  

“How does that happen?”  

 “I do not know. I think we are simply born with it. Very little is known about this connection. Even amongst my people it is extremely rare. Our minds have a high natural compatibility.” He stopped, took a breath, then added quietly. “Amongst my people, it is called – t'hy’la.” 

Kirk looked up. “You called me that. After Amerind. I remember now.” 

“Yes, it was an oversight on my part. I apologise.” 

“Don’t apologise. Why didn’t you tell me sooner that we have this – connection?” 

Spock shifted uncomfortably. “Because I did not wish you to feel in any way – beholden to me. And I feared it would make you uncomfortable. After all, you did not choose it.” 

Kirk blinked. ”But you didn’t choose it either.” He hesitated. “Did you?” 

“I did not.”  

Kirk nodded tightly. “Right. That’s - well, then.” He took a breath, then said hesitantly, “Spock, does it - make you uncomfortable?” 

“It does not.”  

“Good. That’s - good. Do you – need me to do anything that I’m not doing?” 

“No. Nothing need change. I merely wished to make you aware that, as a consequence of this bond, even unrealised, I will be emotionally compromised should the decision be necessary that your life must be forfeit. I understand if you consider that it renders me unsuitable to be first officer of a ship under your command.”  

Kirk stared at him, wide-eyed. “What? You think being emotionally compromised at the thought that I might die makes you unsuitable to be first officer? Spock, do you have any idea how I'd feel if anything happened to you?” 

There was a long silence. Spock stared at his Captain, momentarily lost for words. It had genuinely not occurred to him that the bond might render them both - compromised. Then Kirk added abruptly, “And I’m not stepping down, so neither are you.” 

There was another silence.  

Then Kirk said, quietly, “Spock, what does it mean? T’hy’la.”  

That word, said in Kirk’s warm, familiar voice, tore at his heart.  

He said, evenly, “It means – friend. And brother.” 

Kirk’s sudden smile was unexpected. “Does it? So it makes us - family?” 

“I had not considered it that way, but yes, it - it does.” 

“Spock, that’s -” Kirk voice sounded suddenly choked. He broke off, and moved forward. Spock was suddenly taken into his t’hy’la’s arms, and embraced, with all of his human strength. Before wiser thought could intervene, he slipped his arms around Kirk in turn, taking the opportunity to hide his face over Kirk’s shoulder. The well of emotion that sprang in him at Jim’s action would not be easily concealed. He had feared, he had so feared, that this revelation would lead to anger, rejection - not this heartfelt gladness. He ignored the voice in his head that said he was still not being honest. That he had concealed from Jim the final, truest, definition.  

He was beyond fortunate in his t’hy’la. Fate had gifted him the finest being he could have hoped for. He would not sully its gift with greed. With asking for more than could be given. He would simply bask in this friendship for as long as he was permitted.  

He became aware that Kirk’s grip had slackened. Then Jim moved back, and with a tiny flare of reluctance, Spock let him go. They stood together in silence. Jim didn’t meet his eyes.  

After another moment, Kirk said, almost inaudibly, “You - were my biggest regret.” 

“Jim?”  

“In that – interspace.” Kirk continued, his voice still quiet, a little unsteady, “When I was alone. Just waiting for my oxygen to run out. I thought – there were so many things I haven’t said, I -” he broke off.  

“There is nothing you cannot say to me.”  

There was a huff of air that could almost have been a laugh. “If only that were true.” Then Jim looked up, with an awkward half smile, “Spock, I’m really honoured to be your family. Thank you for telling me.” 

“I – regret I did not tell you sooner.” 

“Don't worry about it. I understand why you didn’t. And I think we can file it under Starfleet’s unofficial don’t ask, don’t tell policy, don’t you?” 

“I do not think they would understand if we did tell them.” 

Kirk smiled, more genuinely this time. “That’s certainly true. Listen, Spock, I need to – erm -” he gestured towards the desk.  

“I believe you should rest, Jim.” 

“Yes, yes I will. Thanks – thanks Spock.” 

He nodded, then a thought occurred. “Jim- there was something you wished to discuss with me?” 

Kirk blinked. “Oh - yes. I – it doesn’t matter. It’s not as important as – family.” He smiled again, and Spock was uncomfortably aware that there was something a little sad in it. “Goodnight, Spock.” 

“Goodnight, Captain.” 

USS Enterprise, 2nd May, 2269  

Leonard McCoy looked at his closest friend across his desk, and sighed to himself. They’d been making small talk for the better part of twenty minutes, and it was rapidly becoming clear that if he didn’t force the issue, they’d be here all night.  

He cleared his throat. “Okay. Are you going to tell me why you’re here, or do we have to keep talking about the health and wellbeing of the crew? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a subject close to my heart, but you don’t usually come to my quarters in the middle of ship’s night to talk about it.” 

Kirk picked up his glass, went to drink, realised it was empty, and pushed it across the desk to McCoy, who refilled it without comment.   

“Shall I guess?”  

Kirk ran a hand through his hair. “Bones, I -” he stopped. At his tone, McCoy frowned. Kirk looked at McCoy briefly, and away again. “I’ve done something really –” he stopped again. “I – I don’t even know how this happened. I’m not sorry, but – I just don’t know where to go from here. I mean, I do – there's nothing I can do -”  

McCoy was listening to his Captain ramble in disbelief. He said carefully, “Jim, I’m really going to need you to say it, just so I’m sure what we’re talking about. What exactly have you done?”  

Jim swallowed, picked up his drink, lowered it again, then said, “I’ve fallen for Spock.” He raised his drink back up and downed half the glass without meeting McCoy’s steady gaze.   

After a moment, McCoy said carefully, but there was some mild amusement in his tone, “Were you actually worried about telling me that?”  

Jim looked at him in surprise. “A bit, yeah. It’s not very professional, is it? Falling for your first officer.”   

McCoy shook his head. “There are no official regulations against it. The only person I know who’s ever spoken out against officers dating other officers is you.”   

Kirk gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Hypocrisy, thy name is James Kirk.” 

“Well, not really. I mean you haven’t done anything about it.” He paused. “Have you?”  

Kirk shook his head.   

“Well, there you go then.” McCoy finished his glass and reached for the bottle.   

Kirk stared at him. “Len, you don’t - you don’t seem surprised.”  

McCoy looked at him in disbelief. “You really thought this would be news to me?”  

“Well, yes.”  

McCoy looked at him for a long moment, as if gauging his seriousness, then laughed.   

Kirk said, a little defensively, “Not sure what’s funny.”  

McCoy shook his head. “You. And him. But mainly you right now.” He looked at Kirk’s face. “Okay. I’m sorry. When did you come to this earth-shattering revelation?”  

“I’m not even sure. A few months ago. But I think it’s been – I’ve felt  something  – for a long time. And I don’t know what to do about it, Bones. I mean, there’s nothing I can do – but I don’t know how to live with it.” He looked miserably at his glass. “I’ve started avoiding him. I know. I know. It’s the worst possible solution. He’s my first officer. He’s my friend.” 

McCoy said, gently, “D’you know how long I’ve known?” 

“Known what?” 

“That this conversation – in some form – was coming?”   

Kirk frowned at him. “How long?”  

‘I suspected something after our first trip to Vulcan. But after Amerind, I was sure.’  

Vulcan? That was more than two years ago.”  

“Yep.”  

“You thought – then?”  

“Yep.”  

“Why?”  

“God Jim, I wish you two could see yourselves like the rest of us do. You wouldn’t even need to ask. The two of you have had – something – since practically day one. I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”  

Kirk looked taken aback. “Who else?”  

“Just the senior staff. Well, and some of the crew. Okay, most of the crew. But don’t worry, they’re loyal as hell, and no one believes either of you would ever compromise the ship.”  

Kirk stared at him. “We haven’t done anything at all. Let alone anything that might compromise the ship.”  

“I don’t know if they’d believe that.” On Kirk’s expression, he added, “Okay. Sorry. Bad joke.”  

“It can’t have been – surely it wasn’t that obvious?” 

McCoy looked steadily at him. After a moment, he said, “Jim, I’ve never seen you like this. So unsure of yourself. Even with Carol you knew what you had to do, you just needed me to back you up. So what’s different here? What’s stopping you just – telling him how you feel?”  

“Because - I mean, for one thing, he – he told me we’re family. Like, brothers, family. We have this – bond.” 

“Well, that sounds positive?”  

“Bones, I love you like a brother but I’m not in love with you.” 

McCoy looked like he didn’t know whether to be touched or amused. “Thanks Jim. Right back atcha, by the way.” 

Kirk continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “So if he thinks of me as a brother, then he’s not – I mean-” 

McCoy held up a hand. “Whoa, there, Jim. You are basing a whole heap of assumptions on one word. I mean, what if brother has a wider meaning in Vulcan?”  

“Well, it wasn’t just brother, he said it meant friend, as well. It was a Vulcan word – t’hy’la.”  

“Uh-huh. So, you’re basing your entire 'Spock doesn’t love me’ premise on a translation that he  gave you.” 

“What other translation am I going to use? It’s not in the standard dictionary, even Uhura didn’t know it. And why would he give me an inaccurate translation?”  

McCoy said dryly, “Oh, I wonder. Hold on, there’s a way to find out for sure.” 

“How?”  

McCoy leaned towards his console. “Ask a Vulcan.”  

Kirk said, “What are you doing?” 

“Finding out for sure.” 

“You’re not – are you calling T’Rena? Bones, it’s the middle of the night.”  

“Not on Mount Seleya, they’re two hours behind ship’s time. I only hung up an hour ago, she’s probably still talking to -” he broke off. “What are you smirking at?” 

In spite of himself, Kirk was smiling. “Oh, nothing. Just remembering that time you told me you weren’t dating. And now you have her schedule memorised.”  

“Oh, shut up. I’m trying to help you here.” 

There was a series of beeps and connecting noises, then T’Rena’s voice said, in genuine delight. “Leonard, this is a surprise.” 

“Yes, sorry, love” - Kirk’s smile widened, “I’ve got Jim here – we need a translation of a Vulcan word that's not in the dictionary.” 

“Oh, of course, what is the word?” 

“T- hold on, I’ve forgotten. Jim?” 

He sighed, rose, and rounded the desk. “Hello, T’Rena.” 

She schooled her face as he came into view, but not so quickly that he wasn’t fairly certain she’d been actively smiling at his CMO. “Good evening, Captain Kirk.”  

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but apparently, give my Chief Medical Officer even the slightest reason to call Vulcan these days, and he’ll jump at it.” 

She looked at him in suppressed amusement. “Do not concern yourself, I am glad to be of assistance.” 

Kirk said, “T’hy’la. The word was t’hy’la. The definition I was given was friend or brother. We were just wondering if that was - accurate.” 

T’Rena almost frowned. “That is a very old word. It has mostly fallen out of use, but yes, I would say that is accurate.” 

To the surprise of both men, another familiar voice spoke quickly from T’Rena’s side. There was a quick exchange in Vulcan, then T’Rena said, “T’Sha’al says that there is another definition, without which the translation into standard would be incomplete. Also, she says good evening.” 

McCoy smiled, “Good evening, T’Sha’al.” A greeting that was quickly echoed by Kirk, who added quickly, “What other meaning?” 

T’Rena said, with what was almost a blush, “Lover.” 

McCoy muttered under his breath, “Well, I don’t want to say I told you so.” To T’Rena, he said, “Thank you. I’ll - call you again tomorrow.” 

“I will be here.”  

Kirk stepped back as they smiled at each other, and tried not to let his heart hurt. He wanted that. That easy, open, and profound affection.  

As McCoy ended the call, he said, “Alright. But why would he miss that out? Because he – doesn't want that?” 

McCoy stared at him. “Or - and I’m just guessing here – because ‘we have a bond that means we should be lovers’ is a pretty big thing to just drop on anyone, let alone your commanding officer.”  

Kirk stared back. “So, you think he might – you think it’s possible that – he feels the same?” 

McCoy said, with an air of excessive patience, “I think it’s entirely possible, yes.” 

Kirk dropped his head into his hands. “Well, I definitely can’t talk to him now.” 

McCoy stared at him in disbelief. “Sorry, Jim, run that by me again? You're not telling Spock how you feel because he might feel the same? I don’t think there’s any ‘might’ about it, by the way, I’m just not clear how it’s a disincentive.” 

Kirk looked at him then, with an expression of boyish hope that made his friend’s heart clench. G od, you’ve got it bad.  “You think it’s - definitely reciprocated?”  

McCoy barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, yes I do. In the same way that I think space is big and the Enterprise runs on dilithium, I think that Spock loves you. And has done for some time.” He threw back the rest of his drink. “My God, you’re a hopeless pair.” 

Kirk stood, and started pacing. “But if you’re right, and I tell him, then what?”   

McCoy pulled a face. “Please tell me I don’t have to draw you a diagram here, Jim. You have all the same equipment. Just do whatever you’d normally do and for god’s sake don’t tell me about it.” 

Kirk stared at him. “I’m not going to sleep with Spock.”  

McCoy said dryly, “Well, I imagine that’s going to come as a disappointment.”  

“I mean – what? Not now, anyway.”  

“Then I’m sorry, Jim, what are we even talking about here?”  

Kirk dropped back into his chair. “Bones, don’t you see? If I tell him, and he feels the same way, what happens then? We just gaze longingly at each other for the next year?” 

“This would be different from now, how exactly?”   

“It makes everything worse. To have everything – right there – and not be able to -”  

“I don’t understand. Why couldn’t you be a couple? Do couple things?”  

“Because of this!” Kirk waved a hand, encompassing McCoy’s quarters and the ship beyond. “Because it compromises us in a way I just can’t overlook. I’m the Captain, for God’s sake.”  

“But if there are no regulations against it -” 

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t frowned upon. And for good reason. If Starfleet got a whiff of this they’d reassign him so fast he’d be gone before the end of alpha shift tomorrow.” 

“Surely they wouldn’t -” 

Kirk said grimly. “Nogura would. And I can’t -” He broke off. Then added quietly, “I’d rather have – this, than nothing.”  

They sat in silence for a while. Then McCoy said gently, “Jim, I don’t know what to tell you. But any time you want to talk, any time at all, I’m here.” 

Platonian Planet, 5th June 2269  

When they drew apart, Kirk was breathing hard. Uhura wouldn't meet his eyes. For a moment, it seemed, Parmen’s attention was away from them. He said, quietly, “Nyota. I’m sorry.” 

She looked up then, and met his gaze. Some of her usual spirit came back to her face. “Not your fault, sir. And besides,” she gave him a watery half smile, “not the worst thing I’ve ever had to do on a landing party.” 

He made himself smile back. “Me neither, now that you mention it.” 

She huffed a quiet laugh, but her eyes were brimming with tears. She had forced herself to meet his gaze, and smile, and he almost unconsciously added Nyota Uhura to the short mental list of people on whose bravery he’d risk his command.  

He tried to turn his head to see what was happening with Spock and Chapel, but found he couldn’t move. Uhura’s eyes had slipped past him, and he had opened his mouth to ask her, when Parmen said idly, “Well that was dull. Let’s make things more interesting, shall we?” 

He began, angrily, “Parmen –“ but the words strangled in his throat as that sickening sensation of being someone’s puppet came over his limbs again, and he felt himself being forced to move once more.  

He sensed movement to his left, and Chapel, her face pale and set and tear- lined, was manoeuvred past him. He saw Uhura raise her head and greet her friend with every appearance of relief and concern, and realised, as Chapel sank down awkwardly beside her, that not all of the spirit that animated Uhura as she pulled her friend close, was Parmen.  

Before he could grow concerned at his own fate, he was deposited unceremoniously in front of his first officer. Spock didn’t meet his gaze. He looked pale, and his face was frozen in an expression that Kirk recognised as a desperate attempt to hang on to his control. He said, gently, “Spock. Hang in there.”  

The Vulcan looked up, and met his gaze, and Kirk felt his heart clench. Spock said, hollowly, “I’m sorry, Captain, I should be able to –“  

As Uhura had done only moments before, Kirk said quickly, “None of this is your fault. We'll find a way-“ he felt a choking sensation in his throat as his words were drowned. Spock looked at him in alarm.  

From behind them, Parmen said approvingly, “The ladies, as usual, are setting a good example.” Kirk looked beyond Spock, to where Uhura and Christine were huddled protectively together. They both turned baleful glares on Parmen, who said with an absent wave of his hand, “Not me, ladies.”  

Uhura looked into Christine’s eyes as her face was turned towards her friend’s. Christine looked frightened, but defiant. She said quickly, quietly, “Chris. I – I know my timing’s terrible, but just so you know, honestly, I was going to try this at some point anyway.” 

Christine’s expression went from fear to shock, to a stifled laugh, in a heartbeat. She said, breathlessly, “ Oh. Good. I mean, better late than never, Ny.” Her smile was one of determined bravery, and encouragement, and Uhura felt a fierce rush of defiance seize her. She was not going to let Parmen steal this moment from them. And whether it was because it was his intent, or her own determination, as she leant forward and pressed her lips against Christine’s, and felt her friend's arms tighten around her, the impulse felt all theirs, and nothing of him.  

Kirk stared at the two women, a dull sense of horror at what was coming beginning to seize his heart. He was dimly aware of Uhura and Chapel breaking apart, and whispering to each other, their foreheads together, but he couldn’t spare them any more attention right now. He was close enough to Spock to feel the fine trembling that had seized him. He moved his hand, slowly, out of Parmen’s view, placed it gently on his friends lower arm, and squeezed reassurance. 

“Spock -” 

The Vulcan looked at him then, and Kirk felt his own heart clench. “Jim, I am sorry. I am a telepath, I should be able to –“  

Kirk said quickly, ”Spock, we don’t have time. We need to figure out a way to-“  

Parmen’s voice from behind him said, “Come on, gentlemen, follow the ladies' good example.” 

Kirk couldn’t remember ever hating anyone so much as Parmen in that moment. He tightened his grip on his friends arm, held his gaze. “Its okay, Spock, it is, – it’s –“ 

The arm nearest Parmen was being forced to move. He felt it rise, and his hand came to rest against Spock’s face, his fingers brushing through his hair, which was, a part of him noted dully, every bit as silken and smooth as that of his alternate universe counterpart.  

If he'd had to envisage a scenario in which to find that out, he couldn’t have come up with anything worse than this.  

At his touch, Spock looked up, into his eyes, and Jim didn’t know what he read there, but his expression was so utterly broken and desolate that it made Jim’s chest tighten in sympathy. Spock bent his head slightly to the side, trying to move it away from Jim’s touch, and Kirk felt the move like a stab to his heart. 

For a heartbeat, he forgot Parmen, forgot his crew, forgot everything but the man before him. He said, pitching his voice for only Vulcan ears, “Spock, just hold on, it’s fine, we'll be okay –“ his voice faded.  

He didn’t know what more to say. He felt like the worst kind of traitor. Had Parmen drawn this idea from his mind? Had he seen Kirk’s imaginings? Decided to try and force them on his first officer?  

Not like this. Please, not like this.   

He said hopelessly, “Spock, I never wanted – I’m so sorry –“ 

Spock said, dully, tonelessly, “The fault is not yours.” 

Their faces began to draw together. Spock had closed his eyes, and Kirk was glad. The broken expression in them was almost too much to bear. He resisted with every ounce of his will, every atom of this strength. Of all the times he had weakened, allowed himself to imagine this, the Spock in his arms had been every bit as willing as Kirk himself. Not like this, with humiliation and distress in every line of his face. He was close enough now to feel Spock’s shallow, anxious breaths on his lips, feel the trembling of his tense, stiffened body, and it was a hideous, traumatising parody of everything he had hoped for. He closed his eyes, willing again his limbs, his muscles to obey his screaming mind.  

Then he felt something – give.  

In the millisecond before their lips met, he moved his face to the side, and his cheek brushed gently against Spock's. He moved his mouth closer to that elegantly pointed ear, and whispered almost soundlessly, his warm breath stirring the dark hair, “Spock. The - the kironide. I think it’s starting to work.”  

USS Enterprise, evening   

Uhura looked up in surprise at the chime, and then at Chris, curled limpet-like against her side. “My, aren’t I popular this evening.”  

Chapel sighed, and snuggled Nyota closer. “Tell them to go away, we’re busy.” 

Uhura giggled. “What if it’s the Captain?” 

“It’s not the Captain, he’ll be far too busy. You know, reporting things. Ordering people. Being, er, Captainly.  

“Being Captainly?” 

Chapel pulled a face. “Well, I don’t know what he does. I’m sure it’s all very difficult, but it looks like a lot of reading and sitting in the big chair to me.” 

Uhura laughed. “Yes, that’s pretty much all they do on the command track. Reading and sitting. In the same way nursing is just standing and scanning.” 

“Hey, cheeky, that standing and scanning is harder than it looks.” She tickled Nyota, who squirmed away, laughing, before calling, “Come in.” 

The doors opened to reveal James Kirk. Both women bolted upright, and stood slightly awkwardly either side of the couch they’d been curled on. Uhura said, reflexively, “Captain!” 

He said, with the air of man trying extremely hard not to smile, “Good evening, Nurse, Lieutenant. I’m - very sorry to disturb you.” 

Christine’s, “No, not at all,” overlapped with Uhura’s, “It’s fine, sir, honestly.” 

Chapel added, “I’ll go.” 

“Please Nurse, not on my account.”  

“Honestly, sir, it’s fine, I’m on the early shift tomorrow anyway.” She looked across to Uhura. “Erm, bye, Ny.” 

Uhura smiled softly at her. “See you tomorrow.”  

Christine smiled back, and all at once, the entire ship was just the two of them. After a moment, the sound of someone quietly clearing their throat broke the charged silence, and Chris said, “RIght, yes, see you tomorrow. Er, goodnight, Captain.” 

“Goodnight.” Kirk had given up on his attempt not to smile at them both. As the doors closed behind Chapel, he said, slightly apologetically, “I am sorry to have interrupted, I came to see how you were doing after today, but you both seem – well.” 

She met his eyes and twinkled at him. “We are, sir, very well, thank you.” 

He grinned at her. “I’m genuinely delighted to hear that, Lieutenant.” 

“Thank you, sir, and you needn’t worry about me, today was frightening, but,” she shrugged, “It didn’t turn out all badly. I’ll be fine.” 

Kirk looked at her closely. “Uhura, are you sure? Today was tough, no one will think less of you if you want to take a few days.” 

She blinked at him innocently, “Are you taking a few days, sir?” 

“Well, no.” 

“Then I'm fine, thank you, sir.” 

“Nyota, I’m the Captain, Starfleet doesn’t like me having unscheduled days off.”  

“Yes, sir, but being the Captain doesn’t make you unaffected by what happened. It’s sweet of you to be concerned about me, but they forced you, too. Is anyone going to come by your quarters later and ask you these questions?”  

“It’s not really the same.”  

She eyed him sternly. “It’s exactly the same, actually, sir. And you didn’t answer my question.”  

“I –” Kirk hesitated, “I have – Doctor McCoy to look out for me.”  

“You, and the rest of the crew.”  

“And Spock,” he said with certainty, “I have Spock.”  

She smiled at him, then and it was so pleased and knowing that he almost blushed. She said, gently, “Yes, you do, don’t you? That’s good. I’m glad.” 

Kirk couldn’t immediately summon a response. This conversation was not going even slightly the way he’d anticipated.   

Uhura sighed lightly. “It is a shame though.” 

Kirk looked at her quizzically.  

She said, “Well, in years to come, when people ask me – and they will – what it was like to serve on the Enterprise, with the great Captain Kirk -“ he laughed, embarrassed, and she smiled, “- it would have wonderful to tell them a stolen kiss story.” She pulled a face. “But I don’t think I’ll be telling them that one.”  

Leonard McCoy walked the corridors of the ship, wondering whether this was an occasion that would require a medical override if Spock refused to answer the chime. On the whole, he thought not, but that didn’t mean the Vulcan would be getting away with this conversation entirely. It might just require the comfort of a further remove of time. He stopped outside Spock’s quarters and activated the chime. When no response was forthcoming, he did so again.  A voice from within said reluctantly, “Enter.” 

He did as instructed to find Spock stood, almost at parade rest, in the centre of the room. As the door swished shut behind him, something fleeting crossed Spock’s face – almost a look of relief - and McCoy thought, instinctively, He thought I was Jim.  

He waved a hand. “Chill out, Spock, nothing formal,” and fixed the Vulcan with a determined smile. “I just wanted to - “ His eye caught a something on a low shelf behind the Enterprise’s first officer, and he stopped. “Hold on.” He took a step closer to confirm what he thought he’d seen, then muttered, “Well, that sneaky bastard.”  

Spock turned to see what had caught the doctor’s attention. On the lower shelf, next to his own choice of evening beverage, was the bottle of bourbon that McCoy had given – or rather, been requested to give – Jim for his last two birthdays. McCoy turned to Spock. “He keeps that  here ?” 

“As you see.” 

“He told me there wasn’t any left. Does he know how hard that is to get hold of out here?”  

“I rather imagine he does.”  

“Dammit, Jim.” He looked at the Enterprise’s first officer. “Well, break out the glasses, Spock.”  

“I am not sure we - “ 

I’m drinking - you wanna invite Jim?” 

Spock moved to a cupboard and retrieved two glasses. McCoy added mentally, Thought not.   

He sat himself at Spock’s desk, and nodded to the second glass. “You joining me? It is the good stuff. Slightly wasted on your system, but since it’s Jim’s...” 

Spock paused in the act of reaching for the Vulcan beverage he favoured, then stopped, placed the bourbon bottle between them, and sat.  

McCoy poured them both a generous measure of Jim’s present, and raised his glass. “To surviving another day on this crazy ride.” 

Spock made no comment, merely raised his glass in turn, and drank. McCoy wondered exactly how much alcohol it would take to effect Spock’s Vulcan system. More than they had, he was fairly sure. Still, it was positively heart-warming to see Spock making the effort.  

He circled his drink in the glass, leaned back, and exhaled slowly. He let a few more moments slip by before saying idly, “I think today has made a strong entry into my top ten worst days on this voyage. And you have to admit, the competition’s impressive. How about you?” 

Spock said, hesitantly, “Are you here as my Doctor?” 

McCoy regarded his friend evenly over the rim of his glass. “Do I have to be?” 

When no response was forthcoming, he said, “Physically, I know you’re fine. Stress response elevated, obviously. Few bumps and bruises. I was concerned about some heightened brain wave activity but it started to settle out pretty fast. But then, physically speaking, today wasn’t that much of a challenge. I’d like to know what’s going on in that extraordinary mind of yours, but I’d rather not drag you down to sickbay for a lengthy psyche eval, so.... I thought a chat with a friend instead.” 

“Thank you.”  

“Of course, if I'd known you had my bourbon, I'd have been in here months ago.”  

“The Captain did not wish to advertise its presence.” 

“I bet he didn’t.”  

Silence fell again. The mention of Kirk seemed to have, once again, thrown a constraint over an already awkward conversation. McCoy sighed. “Spock - I need to know you aren’t giving yourself a hard time over what happened today. It was an exceptionally stressful experience, and hard enough to parse at the best of times. You only make it harder by blaming yourself as well.” 

Spock was looking at the desk between them. After a moment, he said woodenly, “The Kironide rendered the Platonians more telekinetically powerful than could have been predicted. We identified and solved the problem in a remarkably short time, given the circumstances. There would be no logic in any member of the landing party reproaching themselves for anything that transpired whilst under the influence of the Platonians.” 

McCoy blinked. “Well, good. That’s good. I concur. Wholeheartedly. No reproach required. And the rest?” 

“The rest, doctor?” 

He said gently, “They made you emotional, Spock. In front of us.”  

Spock took a steadying breath. “The Captain has expressed to me in the past that he does not regard expressions of emotion on my part to be - off-putting. You have frequently expressed delight at the merest intimation that I am not simply ‘a walking computer’ -” 

“Spock -” 

The Vulcan held up a hand. “Do not concern yourself. Our relationship is frequently adversarial, but it is never cruel. I believe I know where your loyalties lie, as you do mine.”   

McCoy nodded slowly.  

“And I find I do not care for the opinion of the Platonians.”  

“To say the very least.” McCoy agreed fervently.  

“So, as you have surmised, it is my own judgement that speaks the loudest against my actions, but I can appreciate the – illogic of that position.”  

McCoy sighed. “Do you know, it's a real pain having patients that are smarter than me. I can’t always tell when they are telling me the truth, or what I want to hear.” 

“Assuming I accept your premise, perhaps the two may occasionally coincide?” 

“Hmm.”  

“May I enquire –” At Spock’s tone, McCoy looked up. “Is Nurse Chapel – well?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about Chris, I looked in on her before I came here.” He shifted. “She was with Uhura. I’ve never felt more like an unnecessary third wheel in my life. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.” 

He raised his eyebrows at the Vulcan, who said, “Interesting.” A look of relief flickered across his face. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I mean, I did wonder, but – well, people surprise you. I really hope it works out for them. Two nicer people you couldn’t wish to meet.”  

“Indeed.”  

“And, er, speaking of the other members of the landing party....” he allowed his voice to drift away. 

Spock expression had tightened, almost unnoticeably. McCoy thought, And there it is.  

He continued, “Have you spoken to Jim since we left sickbay?” 

“I have not.” 

“Huh. Me neither. You’ll be speaking to him tomorrow though? 

“I speak to the Captain every day.”  

“Well yes, but off duty. I mean it’s Tuesday tomorrow. Chess night.” 

“We have been – less regimented with our game schedule of late.”  

“Oh. So, no game this week.”  

“No.” 

“Well, one of us should speak to him. Check he hasn’t jumped on the self-blame wagon. Make sure he’s dealing okay.”  

“I’m sure you are more than capable, Doctor.”  

“Okay.” McCoy set his drink down with a snap. “What’s going on?” 

“Doctor?” 

“Don’t ‘doctor’ me. And don’t try and pretend it’s just the Platonians either, things have been off with you two for a while.”  

“I have no idea to what you are referring.”  

“Oh really? Okay, try this. Which felt more awkward: being forced to kiss Chris, or being forced to kiss Jim?” 

Spock stared at him. The easy atmosphere that had slowly formed between them had gone. Spock was tenser than he had been when McCoy arrived. After a moment, he said, “That - that is – a highly illogical question. And irrelevant. They were both -” he broke off, seemingly at a loss for words. Then added, as if the thought had only just occurred, “And I did not – Jim and I did not -” he stopped.  

McCoy thought, Well, that answers that question. Aloud he said, gently but firmly, “And just for clarity – that wasn’t your fault either, right?” 

To his surprise, Spock rose, almost knocking the table in his haste. “I believe I have sufficiently indulged your curiosity.”  

McCoy stayed in his seat, raised a placating hand. “You have, and thank you, but one more thing, just to be clear – what happened with Jim was no more your fault than what happened with Chris, yes? I mean, that’s logical. Isn’t it? What am I missing here?” 

Spock looked as if only politeness was stopping him from physically ejecting McCoy from his quarters. “It is – it is not the same.” 

“Yes, it is.” McCoy stared. “It really is. It’s exactly the same. Spock, that might be the least logical thing I’ve ever heard you say. How is it different?”  

“I would like you to leave now.” 

“No.”  

“I am asking - “ 

No. Spock, I’m not leaving you here, beating yourself up for something that wasn’t your fault, just because you have some strange martyr complex when it comes to Jim.”  

“I do not -” 

“What. Was. Different?” 

There was a silence. Then: “I am a telepath.”  

“Yes.”  

“Parmen‘s power was telekenesis.”  

“Yes.” 

“It occurred to me during our time on the planet that he might not be able to resist a telepathic attack. That if I were able to breach his mind, I might be able to control his powers.”  

McCoy blinked. “Good thought.”  

“It was not. Not only was I unsuccessful, I briefly gave Parmen insight into my own mind.”  

“Oh. Okay, but I still don’t see what –” he stopped.  

Across the desk, Spock couldn’t meet his eyes. He continued, “I believe that the idea to – for Jim and I to - for me to assault  Jim - was lifted from my mind.” 

McCoy gaped openly at him. Only the broken look on his friend’s face made him find his voice. “Okay - no. Absolutely, categorically – no.”  

“If I am uncertain, Doctor, then you cannot be certain.”  

“Yes. Yes, I can. Parmen was just throwing darts, to see what would hit. What would cause the maximum pain. The man was a sadist. You are not responsible for that, even if you’re right, which – you're not. Spock - it wasn’t you.” His argument didn’t appear to be carrying any weight. He said, quickly, “Okay, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say – the idea of the two of you together did come from you. Even then, the assault was on both of you, not just Jim.”  

“The idea was mine.”  

“So, what if it was? The action was not. Spock, this is the single most illogical assertion I have ever heard you make. And I’m including everything that happened with those spores on Omicron Ceti Three.” The Vulcan would not meet his gaze. “Spock, listen to me, this isn’t logic, it’s guilt. Guilt because – because you and Jim have let this – thing - between you go ignored for too long. You need to talk to him.” 

Spock looked at him, and the horrified disbelief was barely concealed. “I cannot.” 

“You have to. Both of you – you can’t go on like this.”  

There was no response.  

“Fine.” McCoy rose. “If you won’t, I will.”  

“As my Doctor, and my friend, I plead with you – do not speak to Jim of this.”  

“Oh, come on, Spock -”  

“Please. Leonard.”  

McCoy stared at him for a long moment. “Okay. He won’t hear it from me. But he needs to hear it from you. If I can’t reassure you that you didn’t assault Jim, then let him do it – I promise you; he’ll agree with me.”  

“I shall speak to him.”  

“Good. When?”  

“At – an appropriate time.”  

McCoy sighed. “Please, just – make it soon, okay? For all our sakes.”  

Notes:

Up next:  

A desperate Jim tries to find a replacement for Spock.  

The Captain’s body is stolen.  

The five-year mission draws to a close.  

An important conversation is finally, finally had.  

Chapter 19: All Good Things...

Summary:

Scene set before The Lights of Zetar

Scene set during and after The Cloud Minders

Scene set after the Way To Eden

Scene set after Requiem for Methuselah

Scenes set during and after Turnabout Intruder  

Notes:

Here is my contribution to taking everyone's mind off the politics for a few minutes! I'm so sorry this has taken so long. Real Life has been crazy, and I've had no time to write. Massive hugs and love to my beta, manekikat, who remains endlessly patient and enthusiastic!

Thank you so, so much to everyone who has commented. This fic wouldn't exist without you, and it certainly wouldn't be this close to the end! I've finally caught up with my responses, and I just want to hug you all for taking the time to tell me how much you are enjoying this. I can't describe how cheering it is to know people are liking this fic, and god knows we need all the cheer we can get right now! When this is over, I'm coming to your house with cake.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

USS Enterprise, 27th September 2269  

James Kirk stared at the list of reports and recommendations awaiting his contribution, approval, signature, or all three, and sighed. Since day one of their voyage he’d been working on amalgamating, streamlining, and generally reducing the volume of paperwork involved in captaining a starship. But in this, as in most things, Starfleet’s overzealous bureaucracy had won out. If anything, over the years the pile of administration he had to wade through had increased. And he was all too aware that without a first officer of Spock’s efficiency, the situation would be substantially worse.  

But he couldn’t face any more reports. Not tonight. He wondered what Bones was doing, and if he’d be up for a drink. In years gone by, he’d have been 95% sure that the answer to that question, barring medical emergencies, would have been yes, but since the advent of T'Rena into his CMO's life, his free time to spend with his Captain had, almost overnight, become reduced to one or maybe two evenings a week, and the second only if T'Rena was otherwise engaged.  

You'd have to be a friend of long standing to notice, but the relationship had wrought some ostensibly small, but very welcome, changes in his friend. For a start, although McCoy's irascible exterior overlaid a core of fundamental kindness and compassion for all life, occasionally it was tinged with a level of cynicism that recalled some of the bitterest experiences of McCoy’s life.  

And although Leonard McCoy could still never be described as the sort of person who saw life through rose-coloured spectacles, there had been a subtle, but noticeable reduction in his level of genuine cynicism, if you cared enough to look closely.  

As if summoned by his Captain’s train of thought, the brief chime at the door prefaced the admission of the doctor himself, brandishing a padd and looking pleased.  

Kirk smiled. “Hey Bones.”  

Without preamble, McCoy added to the pile on Kirk’s desk with a flourish. “Second to last report on the general health and fitness of the crew of the USS Enterprise.” He added with satisfaction, “Three days ahead of schedule, please note.”  

“Bravo, Doctor.” 

McCoy executed a mock bow in Kirk’s direction. “I thank you. Executive summary: physically, the usual collection of minor niggles and ongoing conditions; mentally - although I have no basis for comparison since we exceeded the longest previous deep space voyage last year - collectively the crew are actually ahead of where I expected them to be at this point in the cruise.” 

“So it’s all good news?” 

McCoy grinned. “On the whole? Yeah, it is.” 

Kirk grinned back, wondering if he was the only one recalling McCoy’s last report on the crew’s health, which had resulted in his own horrifying diagnosis. So it was with some relief that he slapped the desk and rose. “Well, I think news that good calls for a drink. Join me?” 

McCoy looked immediately guilty. “I, er, I can’t right now.” 

Kirk forced himself to smile teasingly at his friend. “Oh, let me guess. You have a call with a certain young Vulcan lady?” 

McCoy grinned. “I couldn’t possibly comment, but I’ll be free for that drink tomorrow.” 

Kirk said, “Great. In the meantime, I might buttonhole Scotty this evening. There’s an engineering paper I’ve been meaning to –“ On McCoy's face he broke off, “What?”  

“Might not be the best time.” 

Kirk stared. “Why not? Don’t tell me Scotty’s got a date?” He laughed at his own suggestion, then stared at McCoy’s face almost open-mouthed. “Scotty has a date? I thought he was married to the Enterprise.” 

“Well, don’t tell her, but he’s cheating.” 

“With who?” 

“Lieutenant Romaine.” 

Kirk blinked. “Mira Romaine? She’s only been on the ship a month.” 

McCoy shrugged. “Sometimes that’s all it takes. He’s properly smitten. It’s quite sweet.” 

Kirk privately thought McCoy had very few stones to throw about being smitten, but decided to keep the thought to himself, lest it invite unwelcome comment. “Right. Well, I - guess our chat about that paper can wait. Not important.” 

McCoy regarded his Captain, then said slowly, “You know what, I can call T’Rena any time. Let’s have that drink.” 

Kirk fixed him with a wry look. “Thank you, Doctor, but I'm not so starved of company that I need you to turn down a date to hang out with me. Go talk to T’Rena. Give her my best.” 

After a beat, McCoy said, “I will, thanks.” He added casually, “Why don’t you see what Spock’s up to tonight?” 

Kirk said flatly, “You know why.” 

“Yeah, but I think it’s stupid. Call Spock. Play chess. Or, you know, whatever.”  

Kirk shot him a look, then added, “You two aren’t my only friends, you know.”  

He’d meant it to be light hearted, but McCoy didn’t smile. Instead the doctor said seriously, “Call someone else then. Don’t sit here on your own.” 

For the second time, Jim made himself smile. “I will. Have a good evening, Bones.” 

McCoy nodded. At the door he turned. “Call someone.” 

Kirk smiled and waved him out. As the door closed, he returned his gaze to the list of reports and his face fell. With a quiet sigh he pulled the first one towards him.  

Stratos Cloud City, 8th October 2269  

Kirk stared at Droxine with hostility he could barely conceal. Surely she didn’t think that being so obvious was in any way appealing. She was staring at his first officer like she’d like to eat him, and it was getting on his last nerve.  

For his part, Spock was being polite, and not openly deterring her, but that was probably just Vulcan civility. He hoped.  

Droxine was saying to Spock, “Stratos is so pleasant and so beautiful. I think I’m afraid to leave it.” 

Before Kirk could snap a reply about life being full of difficult choices, his first officer said gently, “There is great beauty in the knowledge that lies below, and only one way to really experience it.” 

Despite the presence of himself and Plasus, Droxine was talking to Spock like there was no one else in the city, let alone the room. She said, like she was making some extraordinary concession, “I shall go to the mines. I no longer wish to be limited to the clouds.” She added, blinking her overlarge, expressive eyes at his first officer, “Is your planet like this one?” 

Kirk ground his teeth.  

Spock said, “No. No, Vulcan is – quite different.”  

She laid a hand on Spock’s arm. “Someday I should like to visit it.” 

Kirk said, unnecessarily loudly, to Plasus, “Perhaps some form of mediation can be helpful in your difficulties. The Federation Bureau of Industrialization may be of aid to you.” 

“I will tolerate absolutely no interference!” Plasus' tone was outright rude. “You will not set foot here as long as I rule.” 

Kirk thought, Fine with me. Aloud, he said sharply, “Believe me, sir, I have neither the time nor the desire to return here. Only answering your charges against me will force me back.” 

Minutes later, as the transporter beam deposited them back on the Enterprise, Kirk said, “I won’t be sorry if we never see Stratos again. What awful people.” 

Spock said mildly, “Misguided, certainly.”  

As they strode along the corridor towards the turbolift, Kirk shot him a glance. “You, er, you seemed taken with Droxine.” 

“She was preferable to Plasus.” Spock’s tone was deliberately flat, and as Kirk caught his eye, he raised an eyebrow.  

Almost against his will, Kirk found himself smiling. Spock’s eyebrow rose higher. Tension Kirk hadn’t even been aware of holding fell away, and he laughed. 

As they reached the turbolift, and the doors opened, he said, “Come on. Let’s get to the bridge.”   

USS Enterprise,  22nd October 2269  

Sevrin's followers had finally departed, and Starfleet discipline once again held sway in the cabins and corridors of the Enterprise. In the rec room, Leonard McCoy, enjoying a rare undisturbed lunch with his two closest friends, was saying, “I have to admit, Spock, I’m surprised you had such an affinity with Sevrin’s followers.” 

Kirk was poking at his salad with an expression that suggested he might be thinking unkind things about the physician who had ‘suggested’ it as his mandated lunch option. Before Spock could respond, he huffed absently, “I’m not.” 

Spock blinked at him, as McCoy said in surprise, “You weren’t shocked that the most logical person on the ship was on team rebel?”  

Kirk looked up from his frowning examination of a slice of cucumber into the faces of his two friends. “Of course not. Rebelling isn’t illogical if there’s a good reason for it. And besides,” he indicated his first officer with his fork, “Spock’s the original Vulcan rebel. Running away from a place at the prestigious Vulcan Science Academy to spend your life with a bunch of illogical humans? Classic rebel behaviour.” He shot his friend a wink, and was rewarded with one of Spock’s almost smiles.  

McCoy was looking at the Vulcan if seeing him for the first time. “I never thought of it like that.”  

“Yep. There’s plenty of rebel in our Mister Spock.” Kirk was openly smiling now.  

McCoy nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. It’s always the quiet ones.” 

“You are both,” Spock said in a mildly censorious tone, “being highly irrational. It is not illogical or rebellious to pursue a path highly suited to one’s abilities and interests, as well as ones preferences, even in the face of ostensibly attractive alternatives which may seem preferable to those of a different outlook.” 

“So what you’re saying is, one man’s meat is another man’s poison.” 

“An unnecessarily violent metaphor Doctor, but somewhat accurate.” 

“What he’s saying,” Kirk spoke up, “is that you should do what you love, even if it might look like the wrong path to someone else.” 

There was a pause, then Spock said quietly, “Just so, Captain.” 

McCoy looked from one to the other of them. After a moment, he said pointedly, “Well, that’s a great philosophy there, Spock. But if you end up loving two things that you decide are incompatible, that’s gotta suck, right?”  

Kirk looked at him sharply. Without waiting for a reply, McCoy rose. “Well, I can’t be hanging out with you two all day. I’ve got a sickbay of patients who won’t heal themselves, more's the pity.” 

He left the table in a silence that was suddenly heavy. 

USS Enterprise, 3rd November 2269. Six months to mission end.   

Spock entered the Captain’s quarters at the summons, and stopped near the desk. Kirk looked hollow eyed with tiredness. He barely looked up at his first officer’s entry, but said dully, “Spock.” 

Spock kept his face and voice entirely neutral as he reported, “The epidemic is reduced and no longer a threat. The Enterprise is on course five one three mark seven, as you ordered.” He wasn’t even sure that Kirk heard him.  

His eyes on the desk, Kirk said quietly, “A very old and lonely man. And a young and lonely man. We put on a pretty poor show, didn't we?” The self-accusation was clear in his voice. “If only I could - forget.”  

Spock looked at him, wanting to help, to comfort, but having no idea what to say. Almost as if he’d forgotten Spock’s presence, Kirk laid his head on his hands in exhaustion. Spock hesitated as the seconds continued to tick by and Kirk didn’t speak again. He wondered if he should leave without waiting for dismissal.  

But he found himself without any desire to depart when Jim was so obviously in distress. The debate, then, was what he should do about it.  

The doors behind him opened suddenly, and he almost jumped. Without preamble, McCoy began, “Jim -” then stopped. They both realised at once that Kirk had not reacted to the doctor’s entrance. McCoy said, quietly, “Sleeping at last.” 

Spock said, matching McCoy’s tone, “Your report, Doctor.” 

McCoy tore his eyes from their captain. “Those tricorder readings on Mister Flint are finally correlated: he's dying. It seems that in leaving Earth with all of its complex fields within which he was formed, he sacrificed immortality. He'll live the remainder of a normal life span, then die.” 

Spock said slowly, “On that day, I shall mourn. Does he know?” 

McCoy nodded, with a quiet sigh. “Yes, I told him myself. He intends to devote the remainder of his years and great abilities to the improvement of the human condition. And who knows what he might come up with.” 

“Indeed.” 

For a long moment, they both watched their Captain sleep. Around them, the engines of Enterprise hummed in the quiet of Kirk’s quarters. Then McCoy said, “You haven’t spoken to him, have you?” 

There was a silence. Then Spock raised his head and said evenly, “About what, Doctor?”  

McCoy looked like it was physically paining him not to roll his eyes. “Really?”  

There was another silence. Spock waited for the doctor to get uncomfortable and fill it. But McCoy merely leaned against the divider near the desk, and regarded him patiently, his arms crossed across his chest. 

The Vulcan said stiffly, “If you are referring to our discussion after the incident with the Platonians, I fail to see what purpose such a conversation would serve. The Captain's –“ he hesitated, before continuing carefully, “preferences are once again made clear. Any conversation about any thoughts I may or may not have had during that incident would therefore only serve to make him uncomfortable. And it is possible that I may have inadvertently given you a false impression as regards my ability to share the human tendency towards emotionality.”  

McCoy stared at him in disbelief. Spock merely raised an eyebrow. McCoy took a deep breath. After a slow exhale, he said, “Spock. Let me walk you through something here. Imagine you're a starship captain. A really good one. And in order to get to that position, you’ve worked your goddam ass off. Since you were a kid. You had to be the best at everything. And when you couldn’t be the best yourself? You found the best, and worked with them. You worked longer, and pushed yourself harder, than anyone else. You sacrificed friendships. Relationships.” McCoy paused. “Your son. And every time, you told yourself it was fine, because it was all in the service of getting the only thing you thought you ever wanted. Then you get it. You’re Captain. And it’s great. Everything you dreamed it would be. And you’ve been working for it, pushing for it, dreaming of it for so long, you stopped noticing the sacrifices. Stopped noticing the failed relationships, the broken friendships, and just how lonely you are.”  

McCoy shifted against the divider. “Then one day, you meet someone. One of those rare beings who is actually smarter than you. Someone who loves the life like you do. Someone who balances you – your opposite in all the best ways. And suddenly, you do notice the loneliness. Because, whilst they’re there, it’s gone. And you begin to realise that you want that person around. Maybe more than you should. But you can’t do a damn thing about it, because you made your choice years ago, and whilst you have your ship, your crew, they have to come first. 

“Then you meet someone else. And they are, in every way that matters to you, almost exactly like the other person, but with one crucial difference: you don’t have to choose. You could have them and your ship. So you jump in with both feet, move too fast, too soon, and before you even have a chance to realise your mistake: disaster.” 

McCoy pushed himself off from the divider, took a step closer. “He didn’t love Rayna. He loved the idea of her. He loved – he loves - what she represented.” He looked back to Kirk, slumped across the desk. “Why do you think he feels so guilty?”  

There was a silence. Eventually, McCoy said, “Well, I guess that's all. I can tell Jim about Flynn later, or you can.”  

Spock did not respond. McCoy waited for a moment, then sighed. He continued, irritation creeping into his voice, “Of course, you wouldn't understand any of that, would you, Spock?”  

Before he could reply McCoy swept on, his voice growing sharper. “You see, I feel sorrier for you than I do for him because you'll never know the things that love can drive a man to. The ecstasies, the miseries, the broken rules, the desperate chances, the glorious failures, the glorious victories. All of these things you'll never know simply because the word love isn't written into your book." 

He stared at the Enterprise’s stricken first officer for a long moment, before adding quietly, “Goodnight, Spock.” 

Spock managed an even, “Goodnight, Doctor.” 

At the door, McCoy turned, and looked again at Jim. “I wish he could forget her.” 

The door closed behind him, leaving Spock staring at his Captain, struggling to regulate his thoughts.  He didn’t love Rayna. He loved what she represented. The doctor was, as ever, overly emotional, overly dramatic, and highly prone to exaggeration. But he had known James Kirk a long time, and he was rarely wrong in his assessments of his friend’s character and actions. It was, therefore, unlikely that he was entirely incorrect.  

Had Jim truly reached for Rayna because he couldn’t have – someone else? Someone he was prevented from having by his position as Captain?  

Spock swallowed. The answer to that question was irrelevant. His Captain, his best friend, his t’hy’la, was suffering. And in this case at least, there was something he could do. It was not something he would ever even consider with another, but Jim had often expressed enthusiasm for the act. Invited Spock to undertake it with him. Had given him, in fact, standing permission to do so.  

He took a step closer to his sleeping friend. Reached carefully for Jim, brushing his fingers lightly against Jim’s hair, his cheek, and bringing them to rest as near to his psi points as he could at the slightly awkward angle. It would not matter. His connection to Jim was such that almost any contact would suffice.  

He felt Jim’s consciousness against his own. He had meant to be quick, almost surgical in his approach, but as usual, the lure of Jim’s mind: its dynamism, its warmth, its affection, its natural welcome, was strong.  

What would it be, to feel this always?   

He pushed the thought aside as quickly as it arose, and reached for the source of Jim’s current distress.   

He murmured, “Forget.”  Sleep without this punishing guilt. Your burdens are enough, do not carry this too. Know peace. My T'hy’la. My Jim.   

*  

USS Enterprise, four months to mission end.   

Time was passing too quickly. He had thought that after five years, there would be a part of him that would want to return to Earth. To go home. But at some indefinable moment, home had stopped being a sparkling blue planet in a small solar system, and started being a perfect, silver ship, and the vastness of space. He wondered how many more times he would run his hand over the beating heart of his lady as Scotty gave him some unnecessarily detailed description of his latest flight of engineering fancy.  

How many more times he would listen to Bones setting the world to rights over a decent bourbon, sealed in the doctor’s office, as ship’s night drew on around them.  

How many more times he would exchange a conspiratorial smile with his head of communications as some ambitious stranger tried to bluff the Enterprise’s Captain, assuming relative youth also meant relative naivete.  

How many more senior staff briefings he would chair, listening in amusement as his science officer and CMO sniped casually at each other out of what now seemed to be force of habit, more than anything else.  

He had already welcomed the Enterprise’s last new crew member, months ago. They would be getting no more, this close to the end of their cruise.  

He knew every face that nodded to him in the corridors, every voice that hailed him in the rec room. These were his crew. His friends. His family. Their lives and loves, relationships and energy, passions and laughter, grief and sadness had bound them together as securely as any tie of blood.  

And yet, they were planning to leave. Already, guilty looking crew were sidling up to him with requests for his approval on another offered transfer, a promotion. Of course they were. His crew were the best. They deserved their success. And this journey was ending. Every moment was spiralling away from him like leaves in a breeze, and nothing he could do would make them stay. He was mere months away from the end of the fulfilment of his life’s ambition, his childhood dream, and a kind of grief was beginning to worm its way into his consciousness, kept at bay only with work.  

But he couldn’t help overhearing the conversations. The plans. The speculation. The hopes. They wanted to stay. Or take leave, and come back. They were on a winning team, and they wanted to keep winning. And they looked to him for certainty. Tell us. Reassure us.   

And he couldn’t.  

Despite constant requests, formal and informal, Starfleet had given him no indication other than the one they had given him five years ago: at the end of their mission, the Enterprise would be assessed for refit and repair. Or decommissioned. He would be expected to take a desk job. At least temporarily whilst his performance was assessed. He knew this. Had known it going in. But, surely,  surely things were different now. They had succeeded. Beyond Starfleet’s wildest imaginings. They had found new worlds, new friends, new enemies, new sources of power, and strength, and fear, and hope. They had done everything asked of them, and more. And yet, in the eyes of the people who decided their destiny, nothing had changed. No assurances were given. In four months, he would leave the Enterprise for the last time. Her crew would disperse, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.  

Time hurled him towards that inevitable end, and it seemed to pass faster every day.  

In all circumstances but one.  

The captain watched out of the corner of his eye as his science officer checked the readouts on the screens above him, then returned his attention to his console. As he changed settings and altered the parameters of his scans, the small but firm movements caused muscles to expand and contract, lifting and falling against the confining material of his uniform.  

James Kirk could have written entire papers on the way his science officer moved. The tiniest gesture seemed to call for his attention, to summon his awareness as if his name had been spoken aloud.  

He had stopped pretending to himself that he didn’t notice. Stopped telling himself that he didn’t want. It made time in Spock’s company different to the racing minutes of every other moment. It made the time ache. Lengthen and stutter, as everything he wanted and couldn’t have passed before him, irresistible and beautiful and perfect and endlessly denied.  

The irony was not lost on him, that even as the days slid away, Spock’s mere presence could make him feel as though the end would never come. As if he would be trapped forever in a hellish emotional black hole of his own making, tormenting himself with a desire that couldn’t be satisfied. 

USS Enterprise, 4th February 2270. Three months until mission end.   

James Kirk was pacing the narrow space next to the biobed. Partially out of frustration and the need to be doing something, and partly because it allowed him to become more accustomed to the way this body moved. He felt like a baby deer, having to learn movement for the first time. It was disorienting as hell. His centre of gravity was off. His body didn’t respond with either the strength or  speed he was used to. No Starfleet training, he thought grimly. And Janice Lester was slight, slim, and delicate. Ironically, it was one of the things that had once attracted him to her. Now, it was just – irritating. It made him feel vulnerable. If it came to a fight, there wasn’t a single member of his crew he could go up against. Certainly not any of Darren’s well-drilled, burly, security team. But there had to be something he could do; he wasn’t about to let a madwoman steal his ship. 

The sound of muffled voices from behind the door drew his attention and he stopped. The door opened, and he felt almost weak with relief.  

Spock.  

And close behind him, Galloway. But that didn’t matter. Spock was here. That was all that counted. His first officer stepped towards him, then stopped, a carefully judged acceptable distance between them. Kirk covered it in two small strides. Behind him, Galloway twitched a hand towards his phaser. Kirk said quickly, “Spock. Meld with me.”  

In front of him, his first officer raised a single eyebrow to indicate surprise. His face was entirely devoid of expression. And it seemed further away than usual. Right. I’m smaller. He’d heard Spock described as intimidating before, but he’d never understood it. He was starting to understand it now. He’d never experienced Spock so – emotionally distant. It made his chest ache.  

The Vulcan said coolly. “The meld is a deeply personal act for my people. For what reason would I choose to meld with a stranger?” 

In spite of the desperate nature of his situation, Kirk found himself suddenly fighting a ridiculous urge to laugh. The number of times he’d wanted to meld with Spock, and stopped himself from asking, fearing Spock’s agreement, fearing the exposure of it. Now he was practically begging, and being stonewalled. He threw his arms out, indicating his female form, and said wryly, “What’s the matter, Spock? Not Romulan enough for you?” 

If anything, Spock’s expression became even more glacial. He said quickly, “Sorry. Wrong time to joke. Look. When I was alone with Janice on the planet, she used some kind of device on me. She put my mind in her body, and her mind in my body. You see?” 

Spock said dryly, “You are claiming to be Captain Kirk?” 

Kirk felt a frisson of fear touch his heart. Spock was not responding the way he usually did. Not being warm, not bouncing ideas back, not accepting him at all. Is this what he’s like with people who aren’t me?  

He said testily, still keeping his voice pitched for Vulcan ears, “I’m not claiming to be, Spock, I am. Which you would know, if you melded with me.” He pointed to his temples. “Come on, she might be back any minute, giving the damn orders on my ship.” 

After a tense moment of silence, when genuine fear began to creep into Kirk’s heart, Spock said neutrally, as if testing the idea, “Complete life entity transfer with the aid of a mechanical device?” 

“Yes! Yes, that’s what it must have been.”  

Behind Spock, Galloway moved, keeping his eyes on Kirk at all times. The Captain part of his brain applauded the man’s diligence, even as a larger part fought the urge to tell him to wind his neck in. 

Spock said, “That is your claim. As yet, it is unsubstantiated by any external evidence or objective tests.” 

Kirk stared at him. He wasn’t used to Spock being hard to convince, unwilling to simply accept a thing as possible because James Kirk willed it so.  

He said, and he could hear the slightly desperate edge to his strange, feminine voice, “Nevertheless, Spock, I’m telling you the truth.”  

His first officer said, still with that almost chilling neutrality, “At this moment Doctor McCoy is examining the captain for psychological changes. If any facts are uncovered, that would be acceptable evidence. The only kind which is acceptable to -” there was an almost imperceptible hesitation. If Kirk hadn’t been as attuned to Spock’s voice as his own, he might not have caught it, “- Starfleet Command and to the crew of the Enterprise.” 

Kirk saw his opening, and took it. “Spock, when I was caught in the interspace of the Tholian Sector, you risked your life and the Enterprise to get me back. Help me get back now. When the Vians of Minara demanded that we let Bones die, we didn't permit it.” 

“That is true.” To anyone else, Spock’s voice would have sounded as certain as ever. But he wasn’t. Kirk knew it. Knew it like he knew his own name. “The Captain did not. However, those events have been recorded. They could have become known to you.” 

Jim was doing everything he could to keep his voice level. To keep the fear and vulnerability from showing. Even so, there was a slight tremble. He held his first officer’s gaze. “You are closer to the Captain than anyone in the universe.” He saw Spock blink. Draw a quick breath. “You know his thoughts. What does your telepathic mind tell you now?” 

For a long, tense moment, Spock did not respond. Then he raised his hands slowly towards Janice Lester’s face, giving every chance to back away. Jim fought a sudden urge to gasp in relief. He didn’t even wait for the ritual words. The instant he felt a glimmer of Spock’s mind in his own, he threw himself at it with everything he had – all the complex intense emotions he had for this extraordinary man, every memory he could summon of them together, every touch, every laugh, every intimate moment that could have been more, every time his life had been saved – everything in his mind and heart that said this is us.  

For a moment, there was nothing, and then, all at once, everything. The match to every emotion, the other side of every memory – everything was too much, and overwhelming, then, like a shaft of sunlight through a deep storm, Spock’s voice.  

Peace, my Jim, my  t’hyl’a. All will be well.   

You know me.   

Spock’s mental voice was achingly fond, and almost a little amused. Of course. The lightest touch would have sufficed.   

Did I overdo it?  

You did. As ever, you take me by surprise. But Jim, we must break the meld and secure the ship, we have little time.   

Okay. Spock, I -   

Yes, Jim?  

I – Never mind. Do it. Break the meld.    

He opened his eyes. Spock’s hands were still on his face. They moved away slowly, the fingers against his cheek almost a caress. He fought the urge to lean into that touch, suddenly aware of Galloway’s watchful face, his frown.  

HIs first officer said quietly, “I believe you.” Kirk almost smiled in relief. Spock continued, “However, my belief is not acceptable evidence. Evidence must be factual. Doctor McCoy may be of help. Come with me.” 

Galloway interrupted quickly, “I'm sorry, sir, but Doctor Lester cannot leave here.” 

It took all of Kirk’s fracturing self-control not to bark an order at him. Spock made a reasonable attempt to persuade Galloway of their argument, then simply nerve pinched him with frightening efficiency. He turned back to his Captain.  

Kirk said, suddenly concerned, “Spock, they’ll all think like that -  I can’t - sense you any more, how will you know I’m still me? I’m sure she’s convincing.”  

After less than a second’s thought Spock stepped back to him, and to his intense surprise, took Jim’s hand in his, threading their fingers together.  

His face was set, but his voice was warm in Jim’s mind as he said,  And now?  

Kirk stared at him. “We’re not – melding.” 

Spock’s smile was tiny, but visible. We are T’hy’la.  

They stepped out into the corridor. Kirk was keeping as much of his focus as he could on Spock’s presence in his mind, on their feel of their hands entwined. It was incredibly grounding, even as the familiar around him seemed so strange when experienced through this alien form.  

Then the turbolift doors opened, and Kirk came face to face with himself.  

As the brig’s force shield shimmered into place, Kirk looked across at McCoy. “Nice to have you back on the team, Bones.”  

McCoy gave a half-embarrassed shrug. “Sorry I was a bit slow.”  

Kirk grinned. “Better late than never.”  

Next to him, Spock took his hand, as if to reassure himself of Jim’s ongoing safety. He felt Spock’s mind brush his own. His presence was so reassuring, so fond, that Jim couldn’t help but smile. He thought, absently, Is this how things would be if I wasn’t his captain?  

McCoy glanced down at their joined hands, blinked, then looked back up at them both. “So, what now?” 

James Kirk stood in his quarters, staring at his hands. He’d never thought of them as rough before. Never seen his fingers as inelegant and short. But after a day in the body of Janice Lester they looked like the hands of a troglodyte. He sighed, bunching his fingers into a fist and releasing them, as the chime sounded.  

At least they’re strong, he thought, as he called out, “Come in.” 

The door opened to admit his first officer, and he smiled, almost automatically extending a hand before turning the gesture into straightening the front of his tunic. A part of him wondered if Spock would miss the slim, elegant hand of Janice Lester, and he dismissed the thought in irritation.  

Spock, for his part, appeared not to have noticed. “You are well, Captain?” 

“All ship shape, Spock.” He patted his own chest, and grinned ruefully. “I can’t say I’ve ever been especially fond of my body, but oddly enough, I’ve developed a pretty strong attachment today.”  

“Understandable, Captain. It is indeed gratifying to see you back in your usual form.” 

Kirk nodded. “How’s the crew? Hopefully, no longer convinced of the captain’s instability.” 

“The crew are highly adaptable to circumstance. Speculation on the ship has mainly centred around potential differences in following your orders when issued from the body of Janice Lester, had the restoration not occurred. There seems to be broad agreement with the opinion of Commander Darren that there would have been little difference, other than, in his words, ‘the cap'n bein' neither use nor ornament in a fight.’”  

Kirk blinked at him in surprise before bursting into laughter. “Well, he’s not wrong.”  

He eyed his first officer with a half smile. “What about you? Any potential difficulties with orders from another body?” His tone was light, joking, and he expected a similar response. But to his surprise, his first officer hesitated before saying carefully, “Whilst I had no objections to the form of Janice Lester, unlike yourself, I find I have a pre-existing fondness for your current form which I would have found difficult to overcome.” 

Kirk stared at him. For a moment, in the slightly shadowed light of his quarters it almost looked as if Spock might be - blushing.  Resisting the urge to increase the light level to check,  he opened his mouth to reply before  realising  that his brain had apparently screeched to a halt on the concept that Spock  had a fondness for his current form. Really? How fond, exactly?   

Aloud, he said, “Well, that’s, er, good to know.” And that was a stupid thing to say.  Before the awkwardness could continue, he said quickly. “I heard from command this afternoon. They want us to make some stops on our way home. Hopefully they won’t take too long – if the crew thinks we might be going over five years I might be facing another mutiny.” 

The conversation moved on to safer, more familiar topics. But the same warming thought kept trying to interrupt his mission-oriented concentration.  Spock has a fondness for my form.   

USS Enterprise, two months to mission end.   

Nyota Uhura rolled onto her side and laid a gentle kiss on Christine’s bare shoulder. The other woman stirred and blinked happily at her, gazing at her like she hung the stars. It was a look Nyota would never tire of seeing. One that she didn’t want to stop seeing any time soon.   

She said, quietly, “Chris?”  

“Hmm?”  

“What are you going to do? When – when the ship docks. When we’re home.”  

Chris smiled at her. “I am home.”  

Uhura smiled back, “You softy. But you know what I meant.” 

“Yeah.” Chapel exhaled slowly. “I know. I’ve been thinking – I know it’s a bit late to be retraining again, but I – I’ve felt at home here. Like I’ve never felt anywhere else. I’d like to go back out on a starship. This one, ideally. But not as a nurse. As a doctor.” On Uhura's surprised face, she said, “I know, I know it’ll take years, but I thought –“ she stopped. Uhura was tapping her arm excitedly.  

“Refurbishing this ship will take years. By the time you’ve finished at Starfleet medical, it’ll be done, Leonard will be thrilled to have you back on his staff, and we can go out again.” 

Chapel smiled, picking up on her excitement. “And you’ll be back too, right?” 

Uhura snorted. “Of course. I’ll be back if I have to stow away.” 

It was Chapel’s turn to snort. “As if. You’d be first on the captain’s list after Mister Spock and Doctor McCoy.” Her face fell suddenly. “But that’ll be years away, Ny. What will we do – I mean – I’ll be stuck on Earth.” 

Uhura smiled. “And that’s why I asked. Because I’ve had an offer to teach at the Academy and  I thought staying on Earth would be best, because I’m in situ  when the  Enterprise is ready to go out again, and,” she finished triumphantly, "the Starfleet medical campus is right next door to the academy.” 

Christine drew a quick breath. “Oh Ny, that’s perfect. We’d be able to see each other all the time.” 

“Well, um, actually," Uhura cleared her throat, "I was thinking about that too. It’s always a dogfight to get the decent places near the campus if you’re on your own, but if you're with someone, you know, sharing a place, then it's easier,” she trailed off, looked uncertainly at Christine, “I mean, obviously, if it’s too soon, just say, there’s no press – oof” Her breath left her body in a rush as she was pinned back to the bed and kissed breathless by her girlfriend.  

Christine drew back long enough to say with certainty, “Nyota Uhura, you are a genius.”  

She grinned happily at the woman above her. “I’m feeling pretty smart right now, I won’t lie.” 

Christine kissed her again. Slower this time, and more intensely, then drew back slightly to whisper, “Is that all you’re feeling?”  

An hour or so later, Christine was beginning to doze when Nyota's voice said idly, “I wonder if everyone will come back?” 

“Hmm?” 

“On the Enterprise.” 

Chapel opened her eyes and considered. “You mean the senior staff? Well, Scotty will, obviously. He won’t be separated from those engines.” 

Uhura giggled. “Oh, you haven’t seen him today. I shouldn’t laugh, but honestly, he looked like the sky was falling.” 

“Why?” 

“Because the rumour is that Starfleet are thinking of refurbishing the Enterprise at Utopia Planitia.” 

Christine blinked, “Well, of course they would, that’s –“ 

“And Lieutenant Romaine is -?” 

“Ohhh. On Memory Alpha.”  

“Right.” 

“Oh dear.” She caught Uhura’s eye. “Trapped between the wife and the mistress. What will he do?”  

Uhura laughed. “My vote's on 'petition Starfleet to move the refurbishment of the Enterprise to Memory Alpha.’”  

Chapel said, “What about the rest of the bridge crew? Darren, Sulu, Chekov?” 

“Darren’s pretty close to retirement age for a security officer, but he’ll come back if the Captain asks him. Sulu wants his own ship eventually, but he couldn’t do better than stay here and watch James Kirk if he wants a command class. And Chekov likes to act cool, but he basically hero worships the Captain and Mister Spock. There’s no way he’d leave the Enterprise whilst she’s under their command.” 

Christine said with certainty, “And Leonard will moan and complain and mutter about being press ganged.” 

“But he’ll come.” 

“Of course. He adores T’Rena, but they are getting pretty good at the long-distance relationship thing by now. Oh, and by the way, she’s coming to Earth in two months. Apparently, there’s some kind of important academic conference.” 

Uhura smiled. “Two months, huh? When the Enterprise docks? What a coincidence.” 

Christine grinned. “That’s what I said. He said she’s a very dedicated researcher.” 

Uhura adopted a serious tone. “Area of study: human mating rituals.” 

Christine laughed. “I might have implied that too. He’s very sweet when he blushes.” 

Uhura smiled and hugged her closer. Christine said, “And I can’t imagine the Captain without Mister Spock at his side.” 

“Me neither.” 

They lay in silence for a moment longer, which Chris was the first to break. “Do we know if they -” 

Uhura sighed. “I honestly don’t. But I do know the atmosphere on the bridge has been weird for a while.” 

Chris shifted beside her. “Weird how?” 

“They are so careful with each other these days. Sometimes it’s like they’ve only just met. And then five minutes later they’re so in sync they’re finishing each other’s sentences. They can go from first date, to old married couple, and back to first date in one shift.” 

Chris curled herself closer to Ny. “Oh, I hope they work it out. They’re so good together. It’d be lovely if they were both happy.” 

Uhura hummed in agreement. Uhura’s eyes had closed and she was beginning to drift when Chris said, suddenly, “Oh! Jan! Ny, do we know what Jan’s doing?” 

“Sir?” 

Kirk looked up from his desk monitor and blinked. He’d thought their conversation was finished. “Yes, Yeoman?”  

“I wondered if I could talk to you for a minute?”  

They’d just spent twenty minutes on Janice’s duties for the week ahead, but this clearly wasn’t going to be a continuation of that conversation. He gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk. “Of course.” 

She got straight to the point. “I've applied to do a conversion course at the academy. I – I want to be a bridge officer. General operations with a specialism in communications. I need two references from serving officers. Lieutenant Uhura has agreed to do one, and I was wondering if, well, you’d write the other.” 

Kirk was frowning. She added quickly, her eyes widening. “Obviously it’s fine if not, I can-“ 

Kirk didn’t appeared to have heard her added comment. He said thoughtfully, “Those conversion courses are tough. It’s basically a compressed version of the full course.” 

“I know that, sir, I’m ready to work hard.”  

“They’re pretty competitive to get on. Are you taking the exam when we get back to Earth?” 

“Yes, sir, I’ve read all the recommended texts, and Ny, um, Lieutenant Uhura, has been coaching me.” 

Kirk said, “Good. You won’t get better experience at comms than watching Uhura. But the course is going to cover every station.” 

Janice began, “I read –“ 

“Reading’s good, experience is better.” He leaned forward and hit the comm. “Captain Kirk to Commander Spock.” 

Janice began, slightly alarmed, “Just the reference would be fine, sir, I –“ 

She was interrupted by the Enterprise’s first officer. “Spock here.” 

“Spock, Rand is doing the conversion course for ops at the academy. Can we set her up to shadow for a few weeks, then get some hands on experience on a few quiet shifts before we get back?” 

“Certainly, Captain. I shall devise a teaching plan and communicate it to the Yeoman.” 

“Thanks, Spock.” He signed off.  

Rand was gaping at him. “That’s...amazing. Thank you. Thank you, Captain.” 

Kirk gave her a wry smile. “Don’t thank me yet. I just condemned you to two months of course prep from Spock. If you’re not top of the class by the end of your first week, he’s going to want to know why.”  

She smiled in delight, and stood. “I really appreciate this, Captain, l –“  

Kirk stood in turn, rounded the desk and extended a hand. “Of course I’ll write you a reference. I would be my pleasure. And keep in touch. If I can ever get Starfleet to give me another ship, I’ll be looking for good officers.”  

Janice took a breath and nodded, seemingly not trusting herself to speak. Instead, she stepped past his hand and threw her arms around him, hugging him firmly. Kirk hesitated only a second before hugging back just as hard.  

When Janice released him there were tears in her eyes. As she opened her mouth to speak, he said with gentle mock severity, “Two months to go. Don’t get sentimental on me now.”  

She huffed a half hearted laugh, and nodded. “Can I – can I get sentimental on you on our last day?” 

“I wouldn’t. Not unless you want to see your captain an emotional mess.”  

Her laugh was more genuine. “I shall consider myself duly warned.” She walked to the door, turned and said quickly, “Its been an honour, sir. It really has. Thank you.” And left before he could respond.  

James Kirk raised his eyes to the ceiling, took a deep, steadying breath, and let it out slowly.  

It was going to be an emotionally testing two months. 

USS Enterprise, one month to mission end.   

It was flattering, and touching in a way that he didn’t allow himself to examine too closely, how many of his crew came to him as the end of their mission loomed closer. Every conversation started the same way. How much they had enjoyed their time on the Enterprise. How much they’d like it to continue. How much they’d appreciate it if he could consider them for their position when the Enterprise was sent out again.  

It was that last assumption that went straight to his heart. There couldn’t be a single one of them who truly knew how desperately he wanted to say yes. Talk about refurbishment schedules and improvements, and temporary lay overs on Earth. But he couldn’t. Couldn't make any promise to any of them, except a vague assurance that he would bear their request in mind. Because he had no more certainty than they did. One month from the end of their mission, and there was still no definitive word from Starfleet on the fate of the Enterprise and her crew.  

And because of that lack of certainty, moves were being accepted. Promotions celebrated. Plans made. Kirk didn’t blame any of them – they all had careers to consider. Lives to build. But every congratulations, every well done, every signature on every transfer form was another fine needle to his heart. He’d be lucky if he had any crew left by the time Starfleet decided what the hell they were doing.  

His only consolation was that he hadn’t had a single request from the senior staff. He was braced for it. Each day he awoke might be the day when his perfect senior team was finally broken up for good. But the days slid by, and nothing.  

It was as if they had all taken the same unspoken vow: the Enterprise, or nothing. So they all waited, along with their Captain.  

He knew they’d had offers. It was an unwritten rule of Starfleet etiquette that you didn’t try to poach someone from another Captain’s senior team without at least giving them a heads up. Even at the end of a mission. So one by one, he took the calls: other Captains, Admirals, starbase Commanders, the Commandant of Starfleet Academy. And each time, he braced himself for the worst. And each time, no transfer requests from his senior staff crossed his desk.  

But the offers grew increasingly attractive, and at last he decided enough was enough. One by one, he took them all aside. Had six variations of the same conversation. He would try and persuade them to accept the most advantageous offer he knew they’d had, and they would hem and haw and sound appropriately grateful, before telling him straight out that they were waiting. Waiting for him. Waiting for the Enterprise. And every time, he swallowed down the lump in his throat. Told them to consider their career progression. And every time, they smiled, thanked him, and ignored his advice.  

McCoy hadn’t even let him get as far as that. He’d just looked Jim straight in the eye and said, “Does it matter what I’m doing? When you get this crate back, you’ll pressgang me again anyway. Won’t matter if I’m on Kronos.”  

It had been the first time he’d smiled in days.  

But there was one conversation he couldn’t bring himself to have. He’d tried to lead up to it any number of times, but every time the pounding in his ears wouldn’t let him ask the direct question.  

Are you going to leave me?  

Because of course he would. The offers for his first officer were the most attractive of the lot. Rightly so, of course, but that didn’t make his captain feel any better about them.  

To his certain knowledge, Spock had been offered a prestigious research and teaching post at the Vulcan Science Academy, the same at Starfleet Academy, the Captaincy of his own scientific research vessel from Starfleet, and the same (Kirk had discovered via Nogura, of all people) in the Vulcan fleet. The Captain of one of the Vulcan fleet’s most renowned ships was retiring, and Spock had been offered the first officer role with a view to taking over as Captain in due course. It was an unheard of collection of invitations that said everything anyone could want to know about the wider esteem in which his first officer was held.  

Next to that, what could Kirk possibly offer? The chance for Spock to cool his heels on Earth for a few years on the vague possibility that he might be able to stay a first officer on an old, refurbished ship? How could he ask that of anyone, let alone the best officer in the fleet?  

So he held his tongue. Waited. Hoped against hope that Starfleet would announce the Enterprise’s refit. His own Captaincy. And that somehow, it would be enough. Spock had said enough times that he did not desire his own ship. So maybe it would be enough. Maybe, with that assured, he would stay on Earth. Maybe.  

But the days ticked by, and Starfleet remained silent. So the Enterprise’s frustrated captain continued to wait. And every day, he talked to his first officer. About the ship, about their crew, about their current assignment, about anything at all except the question that was burning itself into his consciousness. 

Are you going to leave me?   

USS Enterprise, 16th April 2270. Three weeks to mission end  

“Spock, do you have a second?” 

“Of course, Captain.”  

They were near Kirk’s quarters, so the obvious thing to do was duck inside. As if by some unspoken mutual consent, it wasn’t a place they’d spent a great deal of time in the past few weeks, as the end of their mission loomed closer.  

He’d been bracing himself for this conversation for most of their shift, and before he could change his mind, said quickly, “I hear you’ve had a lot of good offers. For when the mission ends.” 

“Yes, Captain. As it happens, I did – wish to elicit your opinion on which would be the best opportunity to take.”  

When Kirk didn’t immediately respond, he added, “Obviously there is a great deal of academic weight attached to a teaching position at either the VSA or Starfleet Academy. But the captaincy of a Starfleet science vessel is not to be lightly dismissed, and I am sensible of the unique honour offered to me by the Vulcan fleet.” He stopped.  

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. He was experiencing a sensation that he wasn’t used to, and didn’t like. His heart was screaming at him to encourage Spock to stay on Earth. At all costs, stay on Earth. But his mind, and his finely honed career instincts were informing him quite clearly that Spock’s choice, from a career progression point of view, was obvious.  

He said, and he tried to make it sound enthusiastic, “It certainly is a unique honour. There’s never been any officer exchange programme between the two fleets at that level. And they aren’t even asking for a Starfleet captaincy in return. They just want you. I mean, career wise, it’s the obvious choice.” 

Spock nodded slowly. “I had arrived at a similar conclusion myself. So – you believe I should travel to Vulcan and accept the offer. At the end of our voyage.” 

No. No, I want you to stay with me. Just stay on Earth and  let me see you every day. I can’t lose you and my ship. Please.  Aloud he said, “It's- yeah. It’s certainly the best offer.” 

Spock nodded slowly. “May I enquire as to your plans?” 

Kirk pulled a rueful face. “Decided for me. I’ll be flying a desk whilst the mission is reviewed and Starfleet decides whether to refurbish the Enterprise, or offer me a new ship, or –“ he sighed “- promote me.” 

“You are not enthusiastic about the idea of becoming the youngest admiral in the fleet?” 

Kirk shook his head. “How many admirals do you know in regular command of a starship? No, Starfleet wants me back at headquarters and that’s their way of making sure I stay there. But they haven’t officially offered it to me yet, so I’ve got time to decide.” 

Spock said slowly, “For what it is worth, I agree with your reservations. We spoke once of destiny. Of the notion that each of us have an ideal life, the living of which uses all of our innate skills and abilities and brings us closer to true fulfilment. I believe you are living that life now. I am not sure the admiralty would be an improvement.” 

Kirk gave him a weak smile. “I think you’re right.” He couldn’t help adding, “Spock, whatever happens, I’ll miss this. I’ll – I’ll miss you.”  More than you could possibly know. He tried to lighten his tone. “I mean, what would I be without the best first officer in the fleet at my side?” 

Spock said, with conviction, “You would still be the best Captain in the fleet.”  

Kirk flashed him a half smile. Silence fell. 

After a moment, he shifted a little awkwardly, and said, “Spock, I wanted to ask about, well, about our bond. Will it be okay for us to be apart? A long way apart? Earth and Vulcan? I know you said it wasn’t – realised, like, a proper bond, but I – I just wanted to check.” 

Spock said slowly, “As you have stated, the bond is unrealised. So, there should be no difficulty with us being any distance apart for any length of time.” 

“Oh. Right. Well. That’s good then.” Silence fell again. Kirk said, “So you - won’t be able to sense me any more?”  

“At that distance? It is - unlikely.”  

“Right.” Kirk assayed a painful smile. “Well, that’ll be a relief, I’m sure.”  

Spock said, with sudden intensity, "It will not. I have grown-" he broke off, then added more quietly, "I have grown - accustomed to it. I shall  miss you also, Jim.”  

Kirk drew a sharp breath then let it out on a false laugh. “Listen to us. Three weeks to go and we’re getting maudlin. I’ve already had this conversation with Rand. Let’s save it for the last day.” 

Spock drew himself up. "Agreed, Captain. Although I should point out that Vulcans do not get maudlin.” 

“Of course you don’t, Spock. Of course you don’t.”  

USS Enterprise, 24th April 2270. Twelve hours from mission end.   

The door chimed and Kirk looked up  from behind his desk. Around him a pathetically small number of boxes contained his entire personal possessions from five years in space. He straightened his tunic and called “Come in.” 

The doors of his quarters slipped apart to reveal his ship’s surgeon, bottle in one hand, and two small glasses in the other. Leonard McCoy entered and settled himself on the opposite side of Kirk’s desk.  

Kirk eyed him. “Let me guess. You’re here to talk to me about the latest developments in surgical xenobiology.”  

The glasses chinked as Bones placed them down and opened the bottle. “Yup, that’ll be it.” He filled the two glasses and pushed one across to Jim.  

Kirk raised it, swilling the liquid before his eyes. “Helping me drown my sorrows, Doctor?” 

Bones raised his eyebrows in response. “What sorrows have you got? Finest Captain in the fleet, bringing his ship back intact from the longest and most successful deep space mission in Starfleet history. Darling of the masses, golden boy of the top brass, soon to be youngest ever Admiral if rumour proves true. My heart bleeds.” 

Kirk grimaced. “No longer the youngest Captain in fleet history. The brass can’t wait to haul me over the coals. Too many risks taken. Too many corners cut. Too many left behind.” He swallowed, raised his eyes from the glass and downed its contents in one smooth action.  

“And as of tomorrow, no ship.” He pushed the glass across to Bones who wordlessly refilled it. “And no crew. And tomorrow we’ll be back on Earth. For good.” 

McCoy closed his eyes with an expression of bliss. “Actual ground. Real air. No transporters. I can’t wait.” 

“You’ll miss it.” 

“No I won’t.” 

Kirk smiled at him with affection. “Liar.” 

McCoy cracked an eye and pointed his glass at Kirk. “Don’t go telling people. I’ve a reputation to protect here.” 

“Your secret is safe with me.” 

“What about you? When are you getting another ship?” 

“Don’t know. Starfleet won’t make a damn decision. Maybe never.” 

McCoy snorted. “Yeah, right.” 

Kirk changed the subject. The uncertainty around his future command was bothering him more than he wanted McCoy to know. “I hear T’Rena is visiting Earth, just when we dock. What a coincidence.” 

“It’s a very important academic symposium, I’ll have you know.” 

“I’m sure. Nice hotel, is it?” 

“Oh be quiet.” McCoy was smiling. He added, a bit self-consciously, “Joanna is going to be on world when we land.”  

Kirk smiled genuinely. “Bones, that’s great. Will she be in San Francisco?” 

“Apparently, yeah. We’ve made a plan to meet up. I, er, I was thinking of introducing her to T’Rena.” 

Kirk raised his eyebrows, but nodded. “Good idea. They should get to know each other.” 

McCoy said quickly, “You think? What if they don’t get on?” 

Kirk smiled affectionately at his friend. “Of course they’ll get on. I can’t imagine anyone not getting on with T’Rena. Or Jo, for that matter. And they both know how important the other is to you. They’ll be falling over themselves to get on.” 

McCoy exhaled. “I hope so.” He sipped his drink, then added, with studied casualness, “Speaking of Vulcans, has Spock said what he’s doing yet?” 

“Yeah.” Kirk’s voice was a study in neutrality. “He’s, er, he’s going back to Vulcan. To take the command post in their fleet.” 

McCoy’s glass stopped half way to his mouth. “He’s going back to Vulcan? Since when?” 

“Couple of weeks. He asked me what I thought, and I said he should take the Vulcan offer.  

McCoy gaped openly at his captain. “What in the sam hell did you say that for?” 

Kirk blinked, then swallowed. “Because it’s the best move, career-wise, I mean, it’s practically unheard of.” He looked at McCoy’s dumbfounded face. “Bones, it’d be a first, it -” 

“Goddammit Jim,” McCoy’s drink hit the table with a thud. “Who cares about his career?!” 

“I care.” Kirk snapped, irritably. “And I imagine Spock’s given it some thought.” 

McCoy buried his face in his hands for a moment before looking up. “Yes, yes I imagine he has. And because, you know, he’s not really short on grey matter himself, I would imagine he came to the same conclusion you did. Which begs the question, why did he ask your opinion?” 

“Because I’m his captain, he -” he got no further.  

“Oh, give me strength.” McCoy’s voice had increased in volume. “He didn’t ask you because you’re his captain, or he didn’t know the right thing to do, or he was feeling chatty, or he wanted a second opinion. Do you think he asked anyone else? No. He didn’t. And why? Because he knew what the right decision was but he wanted you to talk him out of it. He wanted you to ask him to stay.” He shook his head. “I give up. I honestly give up. I’m retiring. I’m going to live in a yurt. I can’t cope with the two of you anymore.” 

Kirk was still staring at him when the chime sounded. McCoy looked up irritably. “Come in.” 

Spock entered, holding a large, engraved box. McCoy jumped up immediately, and before the Vulcan could speak, seized his arm and drew him further into the room. “Spock! Perfect timing. Jim’s got something he wants to say. He gave you some dumb ass advice and he wants to apologise. I’ll leave you both to it. Nice box, by the way. See you tomorrow.” He shot Kirk a wide-eyed glare, then left. 

Jim smiled uncomfortably at his first officer. Spock said, “The doctor appears to be as emotional and irrational as ever.” 

Kirk gave a brief huff of laughter. “Yep. He doesn’t change.”  

Spock’s eyes had followed McCoy to the door. He said quietly, “I believe I have – grown accustomed to his particular brand of illogic.” 

Jim’s smile faded. “Yeah. I’m gonna miss him too.” 

There was a silence. Jim said, before it could lengthen into awkwardness, “That is a nice box. Someone get you a present?” 

Spock looked at the box in his hands. “No. I –.” He broke off, shifted, and began again. “I have observed, on occasions such as the ending of a mission, that there is often a tradition of exchanging parting gifts as a memento of the time.” He hesitated, then added, “I have taken the liberty of observing this tradition, and have acquired a gift. For you.” He stepped forward and placed the item in question on the desk.  

Kirk looked from the box, to his first officer, and back to the box. “Spock.” He swallowed, then rose, rounding the desk. “You didn’t need to – I wasn’t expecting –“ His voice trailed away as he extended a hand, and touched the elegant Vulcan script that ran in swirling gold lettering around its edge. He said quietly, “It’s beautiful. What does it say?” 

“It is a quotation you admired. From the book of Surakian philosophy you read two years ago.” 

Kirk seemed about to speak, and then stopped, and simply nodded. After a moment he said, a little unsteadily, “I remember.” 

When he said nothing further, Spock said uncertainly, “Jim, the box - whilst it is indeed artistically admirable - is not, in fact, the present.”  

Kirk looked up. “It’s not?” 

“No, it is a storage device only.” 

“Oh.” Kirk ran his hands along the edges of the box. “Well, I don’t want to break into it, how do I -?” 

“There is a sensor on the top, encoded to your handprint.” 

Kirk looked at the top of the box. A clear, crystalline jewel was inlaid into a metallic surface, also engraved with tiny Vulcan lettering. He reached for it, and his hand hadn’t touched its surface before the sides of the box began to slide smoothly aside to reveal their contents. Kirk drew a sharp breath.  

Sitting on the surface of his desk was the most exquisite three-dimensional chess set he had ever seen. The stanchions between the levels were the deep black of a starfield, engraved with the same Vulcan script as the box, but this time in a silver that caught the light like myriad tiny constellations. The levels themselves were inlaid with the same beautiful material, this time alternating to form the black and silver squares of the playing surface. The pieces were extraordinary. He reached for the nearest one with an unsteady hand.  

It was clearly the king of the lighter pieces, and had been carved with incredible care into the likeness of a figure Kirk didn’t recognise. He wanted to ask, but didn’t trust his voice. His throat seemed to have closed over.  

“In the days of pre reform Vulcan,” Spock’s voice was quiet, ‘my ancestors pursued a polytheistic religious path. The pieces are representations of the old gods. That is the god of the suns.” 

Kirk found his voice. In his hand, the small figure was warm, and unexpectedly heavy. He said, unsteadily, “Spock, I can’t- this is beautiful, but it’s too much, I -” 

Spock said thickly, “It is yours. It can belong to no-one else.”  

Eventually, Kirk nodded, not taking his eyes from the board. He took a grounding breath, and then another. After a third, he said, “Thank you. It’s - it’s perfect. Thank you.” 

A weighted silence descended.  

“I was hoping,” Spock said, after another moment, “to be permitted to retrieve my set, now you have your own.”  

Kirk gave a sudden bark of laughter. “Oh, I see, ulterior motive. Well, I was planning to sneak it away in my bag, but I suppose I’d better let you take it now.”  

“Thank you, Jim.”  

Kirk nodded again. He said, “I, erm, I got you something too.” 

Spock blinked in surprise. Kirk shrugged lightly, “As you said, it is sort of - traditional.” 

He walked back behind his desk to the safe, opened it, and retrieved a plain brown box, slightly smudged with dirt on the sides. He walked back to Spock and held it out to his first officer. “Box isn’t so nice, I’m afraid. I was going to do something better with it, once we got to Earth, but since you’re here now...” his voice trailed away.  

Spock took the offered parcel, stared at it, then back at Kirk. “Thank you. Captain. I - did not expect -” he broke off.  

When he made no move to open it, Kirk said, “Box isn’t the present here either, Spock. I mean, let’s be honest, it’d be pretty rubbish if it was.” He gave a self-conscious chuckle.  

Prompted to movement, Spock slowly, carefully, drew the box away, and stared at its contents. After a moment, the box itself dropped unheeded to the desk. In his hands, a perfect, intricately carved, scaled down replica of the Enterprise glowed in the light of the cabin as if lit with an inner fire.  

In the silence that followed, the  engines of the real ship could be heard, driving them ever onwards towards their  destination.  

Kirk said, “It’s, er, it’s not very big, I know. It was hard to get enough raw material. Bit of a demand, obviously.” He gave another self-conscious laugh. After a moment, he said, “If you don’t like it -” 

“It is the Enterprise.” 

“Yes.” 

“It is carved from dilithium.”  

“Yes. Inert, obviously. Raw form. I had a hell of job getting hold of it. Didn’t want to have it on the ship too long either, in case Scotty got wind and tried to have it off me.” He huffed a laugh.  

“It is the work of T’Ath’alen.” 

“Yes. I, er - had to ask around a bit. Don’t know much about art. But she seemed to be the person everyone was talking about, sculpture -wise. Wasn’t too happy about the dilithium. Not a good medium, apparently.”  

Spock stood entirely still for a long time, head bowed over the perfect, glittering starship in his hand.   

Jim, suddenly afraid the gift didn’t express everything he had hoped it would, said hesitantly, “I thought, if we don’t get her again, if we can’t ever put things back the way they were, I – wanted you to have something to remember me by. Us. The - the ship. By.”  

Spock laid the small ship reverentially on the desk, next to the chess board. He turned to his Captain. “Jim. I will not – I will never – forget you.”   

Kirk had to look away from the brutal sincerity in his first officer’s face. This was harder than he had even imagined it would be.   

He tried for levity. “Now, come on, Spock, don’t be making promises you can’t keep. Five minutes back on Vulcan and it’ll be Jim who? I mean, who knows, a couple of weeks on a Vulcan starship, new Captain, new ship, logical crew, you might not want to -”   

It had been supposed to be teasing, light, their usual banter. But the right tone just wasn’t coming. He gritted his teeth against a wave of grief at the mere thought of Spock calling someone else Captain, of him wanting to stay away.... Spock was his, dammit, and god, he should never have had any of Bones’ bourbon, he could feel moisture trying to fight its way from behind his eyes. He lowered his head.   

“Jim.”  

Spock had moved forward, into his space. He was so close that Jim could feel his body heat, feel his breath against his hair. Gentle hands reached to touch his upper arms, hold lightly in place.   

“Jim. You are - distressed.” Spock’s voice was a whisper against his forehead.   

He tried to take a steadying breath, but it came out as more of a gasp. His throat was closed against the reassurance he would have tried to make. He reached out and placed his hands either side of Spock’s ribcage, steadying himself against that warmth and strength. Under his touch, an almost infinitesimal trembling took told.   

He closed his eyes and raised his head slightly. His forehead came to rest against Spock’s and they stood for long seconds, breathing each other’s air.   

Jim knew the next step, knew it intimately. Knew the anticipation of that first brush of lips. He had lived it more times than he could now recall, but it had never felt like this. Never so earth-shattering, never so profound, never so desperately, desperately wanted.  

“Spock,” Jim heard the crack in his own voice, “Spock – I - we can’t do this. This – us - it’s too important. We could ruin everything.”  

“Jim. My ashayam.” 

“Spock, walk away. Please. Don’t make me order you to go.”  

“You - do not wish to -”  

“Yes. Yes, I wish to.” Jim drew back, so he could meet Spock’s eyes, so there could be no room for doubt. “I wish to, you have no idea - but not here. Not on the ship. Not – as your Captain. As - as Jim. Please.”  

“In twelve hours time, you will no longer be my Captain.” 

“Can you wait? Until then?” 

Spock’s eyes were depthless in the dim light. “I have already waited – a long time.”  

Jim’s breath caught. “Have you?” 

“Can you think otherwise?” Spock’s hand had moved from his shoulder, closer to his neck, a gentle caress against his bare skin. 

“I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe it was – wishful thinking.”  

“My T’hy’la.” Spock’s tone was the one he used when his emotions were so strongly engaged that even his Vulcan control wasn’t enough. 

“Don’t call me that. Not yet. I haven’t earned it yet. I haven’t - been that to you. But I will be. I promise. Let’s just – get through tomorrow.”  

“Very well.” Spock swallowed, took a breath, and began to draw back. Jim had to fight the urge to tighten his grip. To pull him close and cross the final distance that had separated them for so long. The air that rushed into the gap Spock vacated felt cold against his skin.  

Spock carefully retrieved the small starship, and walked to the door.  

As he reached it, Kirk said quickly, “Spock?” 

The Vulcan turned. Kirk took a breath. He was suddenly, painfully aware of his uniform. Of Spock’s uniform. Of the hum of the engines, and the deck beneath his feet.  But he had to say it. Had to say it now. Before the ties that bound them were irrevocably broken. Before they lost the Enterprise. Before everything changed.  

“I wanted to say – I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now –“ Spock’s eyes were dark on his. In the dimmer light of ship’s night, they were almost unreadable.  

James Kirk had faced down his own death. The destruction of his ship. But nothing had felt as nerve-wracking, as exposing, as this. He forced the words past suddenly dry lips.  

“The, the thing is - I’m in love with you.”  

He stopped. Spock had frozen in place as if struck.  

Jim carried on, to fill the unbearable silence, “Have been for a while actually - I didn’t want you to think – you need to know - this isn’t a passing thing for me.”  

Spock's hand had tightened on the small ship. After a moment, he said, so quietly Kirk had to strain to hear, “Nor I.” 

Silence fell again as they looked at each other across the small space. Five long years passed between them in a few heartbeats. Jim said softly, his voice unsteady, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Spock nodded. “Goodnight. Captain.” 

“Goodnight. Commander.”  

Starfleet Headquarters, Earth, April 25th 2270  

He hadn’t been Spock’s Captain for three hours and thirty-seven minutes. And in that time, he hadn’t exchanged so much as a word with his former first officer. After an initial meet and greet, every member of the senior staff had been button holed for a debrief, and Spock had been hurried away by one of Nogura’s aides like he was being detained for questioning.  

He had, however, seen what felt like every Admiral, Commodore, and senior officer Headquarters had to offer. Even the C in C himself had been down. He’d spoken to more Starfleet officers in one day than he’d had crew on his ship. Even Nogura was in an expansive mood, and the mission debrief that Kirk had been quietly dreading was positively collegiate in feel. In any other circumstances, he would have enjoyed being on the irascible Admiral’s good side, rare as that was, but every second that passed was another not spent looking for Spock.  

He’d spied Spock at a break, being talked at by the Head of the Sciences division at the Academy, but he’d barely had a chance to make eye contact before being pulled away by Nogura.  

He wished he’d been able to speak to Spock again before all this began. But the morning on the bridge – the Enterprise’s final arrival at Earth dock – had been a non-stop roller-coaster of emotions: goodbyes, congratulations, even tears from some of the crew – whether of sadness or joy, or both, it was impossible to tell. He had shaken hands with everyone on board. Uhura had hugged him so hard he thought he might be bruised tomorrow.  

But now, finally, he was free. He hurried out of the executive branch of headquarters, and into the communal atrium at the entrance. Sunlight streamed through the glass roof. They couldn’t have picked a nicer day to come home, but he barely noticed, scanning the passing crowds until he saw the face he sought.  

Spock was standing towards the rear of the atrium, out of the direct sunlight, presumably in the effort to avoid recognition. He had not been entirely successful, however, as a Captain Jim didn’t recognise was currently talking to him. Jim felt his heart give a leap, as he hurried towards that halo of dark hair. He didn’t even wait to hear what the conversation was about, before saying, “Excuse me, Captain, I need to speak to Commander Spock on a matter of urgency,” and practically dragging the unresisting Vulcan away. He heard Spock mutter an apology, then they were alone.  

He dropped his hand. Took a breath.  

“Hi.” 

“Hello Jim.” 

“Hell of day, huh?” 

“Indeed.” 

Jim cleared his throat. “Listen, Spock, I’ve been thinking, I wanted to, erm, apologise. For yesterday. For – for what I said. I know I kind of dropped it on you, and I -” 

Spock said bluntly, “Then you no longer feel as you did last night?” 

Kirk stared at his former first officer in uncomfortable surprise. He was doing that thing where he controlled his expression so entirely that not even Jim could read it. Out-Vulcanning the Vulcans.   

Lie. That was his first thought. Brush it off. Don’t let the awkwardness continue. But what did it matter now? He wouldn’t see Spock on the bridge tomorrow. Or the next day. In three days time he wouldn’t see Spock for months. Maybe even – years. The realisation made him sharper than he might otherwise have been.   

“Of course I do. Nothing has changed.” He took a breath. “Except - I’m sober, and I realise I - might have made you uncomfortable -” He broke off, and looked across the atrium. Starfleet officers of all ranks and disciplines walked back and forward, throwing occasional curious glances their way. Jim lowered his voice. He said, “Spock, I – you must know. How important you are to me. And not just as a member of my crew. Or the finest officer it’s ever been my privilege to serve with. Or the best first officer – and science officer – in the fleet.” He met Spock’s studiously blank gaze. “Aside from all that, you’re my friend, Spock. My best friend. I don’t want to know what my life would be like without you in it. And if anything I said last night endangered any of that, in any way, then I want you to forget it.” He swallowed and added, “But I can’t tell you I didn’t mean it. I did. I do. But nothing matters but that we’re okay. Do you see?”  

The crowds in the atrium had begun to disperse slightly, as lunch ended and duty called, but Jim saw nothing except the face in front of him. He needed this to be right between them. Their service together, their friendship, called for nothing less.   

After a moment, Spock said quietly, “We cannot know what our future situation will be, but as of this morning, you are no longer my commanding officer.” Jim knew that tone. It was the one Spock used when he was working something through in his mind. He waited.   

Spock continued, “Jim, I am not - accustomed to situations such as this. I do not know –“ He broke off.  “I have struggled with my feelings for you.  I find that I – no longer wish to struggle. I would like to - seek a resolution. One way – or another.”  

Jim stared at him, hope and fear warring for an uneasy supremacy in his chest. He said, uncertainly, “Okay. I mean – whatever you want, Spock, I’m here.”  

He saw the moment that Spock made his decision. His expression changed, focussed, and he stepped forward slightly into Jim’s personal space.   

Jim felt a kick of adrenaline, and his heart rate began to climb, and he had no idea if it was their current situation, or the sense memory of every other time he seen that expression, waiting for Spock to pull a miracle out of thin air, to save the ship. Had this other feeling - this intensity between them that hummed like a living thing, now free of all constraints of duty and propriety – had this always been there too?   

Spock spoke quickly, and so quietly Jim had to strain to listen against the background noise in the echoing space. “There is an apartment overlooking the bay, set aside by the Federation for the use of the Vulcan ambassador and his family. My father does not use it, deeming it to be unnecessarily extravagant. The embassy has offered it to me for my use whilst I remain on Earth. I did not intend to make use of it. However, I will be there tonight, and each night until my ship leaves for Vulcan in three days' time. I will send you the location. The entry will be keyed to my biometrics. And yours.”  

Jim stared at him, struggling to get his mind to process the words as his body fought the urge to step closer, even surrounded as they were by Starfleet officers moving through the increasingly shadowy space. He said faintly, “Spock, what –“ 

Spock’s eyes were on him, and they were gentle, and hopeful, and afraid, and naked with wanting in a way that he had never been allowed to see before. The fact that Spock wasn’t even trying to hide it stopped his voice in his throat.   

Spock said, “The decision is yours. If you wish to – deepen our relationship, I shall be there. If you do not, then I will not see you again before I leave. But know that whatever you decide, I have been, and ever shall be, your friend.”  

Before Jim could even breathe to form a response, he had turned, left the shadows around them, crossed the sunlit atrium, and passed into the bright world beyond.   

Notes:

Next: The end of the beginning.

Chapter 20: The End of the Beginning

Summary:

Scenes set during Generations

Scenes set after the end of the first five year mission.

Notes:

Over a year of my life, 200k words, and we're finally at the last chapter! I hope it's what you hoped it would be. Also, you only have yourselves to blame that we aren’t at the end of the story. I was originally planning to wrap this up in twenty chapters, but the feeling in the comments was that, well, more is more, so there will be a First, Best Destiny – Part Two, taking us from just before the Motion Picture to Generations, and after. I hope I’ll see you there! I can't guarantee when it will be posted, but I can say with certainty that the chances of it being up sooner are significantly increased by encouraging comments on this fic!

Oh, and speaking of Generations, here beginneth the retconning, so you’ll have to indulge my bit of canon divergence. :)

I have people to thank: first, of course, my amazing beta, manekikat, who is not only a incredibly kind person who actually kept this readable, but also encouraged me to keep going, kept me sane, and stopped me throwing in the towel half way through this chapter!

And second, every single person who has commented on this fic, as of right now. I genuinely would have stopped after a couple of chapters without your enthusiasm. Thank you so, so much. You are all wonderful and have made me cry in the best possible way. All my love to: 3kidsinatrenchcoat, Aliset, angharad233, Anon / AnonWhoAdoresYou / AnonkTime / AnonkTimeIsPanicking / Anon2RevengeofAnon, Arianna, Arin_I_Nira / Arin, Asguardianspock, beanbags, Bubbly_Mer, Child_of_Darkness69, ChimaeraKitten, cryptyd, deeptime, DetectiveMA, Donnita, Dreya monster, Earthberad, EmeraldsAndAmethyst, Erik_Heinrich, eveningstar10, ForceoftheSpear, Fractured_View, fyre, greenforsnow, HelenaSerdaigle, HiddlesHasLokiFeels, hothotpot, imnotcreativewithnames, Ineffabilitea, jenny 40, Judy Carter, Klari, Legobattlefield, Lemon_Demon_but_sadder, LissetteG, llamacat, lost_in_the_cosmos, LSPINGLES, maidengarnet, manekikat, McMac, MetisRose, Minastara, mindmeld, MOji10, monkeybob602, NebulaeEmmers, newaunty, Nosferotica, novemberleaves, perunanaama, phelmI7, Proudotaku2019, quantum27, RabbidMaki, Rachel74, readwing, Rinrys (mehtron), ShiningTimeStories, slashisfamilyhistory, Sleeping Rory, Smilingfish, Sophie, Soral179, Speff, spocklee, Talitacortazar, Tau9, TFT, the scribbler dragon, The_Bean, TheWriter2, tmelange, tooberjoober, Tournevis, vulcanrise, WeirdLittleStories, WhatsSheCalled, and last but very much not least, wisdomofcheer.

(Oh, and people who commented on The Eleventh Hour, asking about the drydock scene? There's a bit in here that's just for you. :) )

Lastly, I would beg you to remember, when you reach the end of this chapter (which was by far the hardest chapter to write) that it says in the introduction to this fic that we are following canon. So you knew what you were getting into. I hope you like it.

Deep breath. Here goes...

Chapter Text

 

Between what is said and not meant, and what is meant and not said, most of the love is lost. 

Kahlil Gibran 

 

The Nexus, 2371  

Kirk rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle, and looked appraisingly at the man next to him. He was much older than Kirk had been when he had first taken command of the Enterprise. His demeanour was grave, and his eyes serious. But there was something indefinable about him that Kirk liked. An air of authority, but with an undercurrent that suggested there might be more than a little rebel, if you dug beneath the surface. 

He said, “Captain of the Enterprise, huh?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Close to retirement?” 

Picard blinked. “I’m not planning on it.” 

“Let me tell you something.” Kirk leaned forward in the saddle, and his tone was earnest. “Don’t. Don’t let them promote you. Don’t let them transfer you. Don’t let them do anything that takes you off the bridge of that ship, because while you’re there, you can make a difference.” 

Picard leaned forward in turn, and matched Kirk’s intense tone. “Come back with me. Help me stop Soran. Make a difference again.” 

A smile hovered around Kirk’s lips. “Who am I to argue with the Captain of the Enterprise?” He saw a glimmer of amusement reflected in Picard’s eyes. “What’s the name of that planet - Veridian Three?” 

“Yes.” 

“I take it the odds are against us, and the situation is grim?”  

“You could say that.” 

Kirk grinned. “So, how do we get out of here?”  

Picard looked around. “It seemed to happen automatically last time, as soon as I decided I didn’t want to be part of the illusion the Nexus created for me. One minute I was there, the next, here.” 

“Huh.” Kirk raised his voice and addressed the air. “Okay, we’re done here. Veridian three, stopping the mad scientist, let’s go.” 

The air around them didn’t change, other than a gentle breeze which ruffled the manes of their horses. Picard gave a tiny huff of irritation.  

Kirk said, “Are you sure you really want to leave?”  

Picard said, “My ship is at stake. My crew. Millions of lives.” 

“I guess that’s motivation enough.”  

Picard said, “What about you? Are you sure you want to leave?” He hesitated, then added, “No ship. No crew. You’re eighty years out of time. Here, you can have anything you want. There? Not so much.” 

Kirk looked at him in wry amusement. “I thought you wanted me to come with you?” 

“I do. I can’t do it on my own. I know that. But if you don’t really want to leave, I can’t make you.” 

Kirk frowned. “I do want to leave. I do. For the reasons you just gave. Millions of lives. And it’s not my Enterprise, but it’s still the Enterprise. Of course, I’ll help.” 

Picard was watching him intently. “So, is there anything – anything at all – that might be keeping you here?”  

After a moment, Kirk drew a breath. “It could be that – I've forgotten something. Something important. I think if I could just remember – that would help. I’d know, you know? Whether I should be in here, waiting, or out there with you. I’d be sure.” 

“And me asking what it is you’ve forgotten wouldn’t be helpful?” 

Kirk shot him a half smile. He was warming up to Picard with every minute that passed. “Not really, no.” 

Picard settled his horse, which was beginning to fidget. “Okay. This thing you’ve forgotten, is -” 

“Not a thing. A who. I’m - fairly sure.” 

“Good. That’s good. Is it a person from your real life, or someone you conjured up in the Nexus?” 

Kirk hesitated, then said. “Real life. Too important not to be.” 

“Right. So you’ve forgotten someone from your life -” 

Kirk held up his hand. “Wait. No. Not forgotten. Not forgotten. I remember now. The Nexus hid the memories from me. Because it couldn’t replicate them. That’s what she said.” 

“Who?” 

“The woman. In the bar. With the purple robe and the - the smile.” 

“You spoke to Guinan?” 

“Guinan! Yes, yes, I did. More than once.” Kirk’s horse, disturbed by his enthusiasm, began to fidget, and he walked it around Picard’s horse, and back into place. “This is good, this is right. I remember this.” 

“What did she tell you?” 

“Just that. That the Nexus was hiding my memories of someone from me because its inability to replicate that person was causing me distress.”  

Picard frowned. “But if that’s the case, then this conversation is unlikely to help with your motivation to leave.” 

“Why not?” 

Picard shifted uncomfortably. “Captain, you’ve been gone a long time. With a few exceptions, everyone you knew...will be gone.” 

Kirk looked away, and swallowed. Then set his jaw. “But better that, than this – illusion.”  

Picard didn’t reply. Kirk said suddenly, “Hold on. What exceptions? If it’s been eighty years who the hell is still alive?”  

Picard gave a brief smile. “Believe it or not, your former Chief Engineer.” 

Kirk stared. “Scotty? He'd be a hundred and fifty at least!” 

Picard’s smile widened. “I think you’ll find him pretty much the same age as you left him. He was stuck in a broken ship, just drifting in space, so he transported without a destination and stuck himself in the buffer until we ran across him entirely by chance.” 

Kirk gaped at him for a long moment, then laughed. “Stuck himself in a transporter. Of course he did.” He shook his head, still smiling. “God bless you, Scotty.”  

Picard added, “And of course Vulcans have natural longevity.” 

Kirk blinked. “Vulcans?” 

“The Ambassador. Well, former.” 

Sarek is still alive?” 

It was Picard’s turn to frown. “No. Sarek died a few years ago. I’m sorry. I meant his son. Your first officer.” When no recognition dawned, he added, in a tone that indicated he might be concerned for Kirk’s mental faculties, “Spock.” 

Jean-Luc Picard was a well-read man, and had seen many literary descriptions of people turning white with shock. But he’d never seen anyone come as close to it in reality as James Kirk did in that moment. He said, in concern, “Captain?”  

He didn’t think Kirk heard him. The other man was muttering, “Eighty years. Eighty years. My god. Oh my god.” His horse, sensing its rider’s distress, began to edge away from Picard and his mount.   

Picard reached to grab the bridle, but Kirk was faster. He yanked on the reins with a ferocity that made Picard wince. The horse reared in alarm as Kirk roared to the suddenly darkening sky, “Get me out of here! 

Launch site, Veridian III  

The world around them changed like they were at the heart of a storm tearing reality itself. The sensation was like being beamed into zero gravity, then instantly out again. The seemingly solid landscape around them simply vanished, and there was a moment of hideous disorientation before it was replaced with an entirely different, apparently solid, landscape.  

Kirk had just enough time to note excessive heat, an unwelcoming rocky desert landscape, an out of place metallic platform with a rocket-like structure – that must be the launch pad – and the presence of Picard, a short distance away.  

Then the pain started. It seared into his mind like a brand, and he fell to his knees with a gasp.  

Picard, who had taken a step towards him, increased his pace and dropped next to him. “Captain, are you alright? Can you move? It worked. We’re here.” 

Kirk could barely hear him. The pain in his head was all consuming, spreading through, and weakening, his entire system. And it wasn’t just physical. A profound hurt – grief, anger, excoriating sadness - was beginning to tear at his insides.  

He pushed the emotional charge away as far away as he could, and forced himself to stand, against every instinct that screamed at him to just curl up and stop moving. Picard seized his arm to help, otherwise he might have fallen again.  

He gasped out, “I’m – I’m okay.”  

Picard looked like he didn’t believe him, but wasn’t about to argue. He nodded towards the odd structure. “Soren’s over there with the launcher. We need to get to the platform, deactivate the launcher itself, and get the control off him so he can’t reactivate it remotely.” 

Kirk said, with a tight, careful nod, trying to avoid moving his head as far as possible, “Alright. Let’s go.” 

The adrenaline rush from being shot at by a lunatic with a rocket launcher and a phaser seemed to be helping with the pain. Certainly, once Soren had made a dash for it, and dropped the control padd onto the scaffolding bridge below, he was feeling well enough to say, “I’ll get it. You go for the launcher.” 

Then the pain in his head spiked again and he swayed in place. Picard frowned. “Forget it, Captain. Get to the launcher. Engage the docking clamps. I’ll get the control padd.” 

Under other circumstances, he would have argued. Instead, he forced a smile. “Good luck, Captain. And call me Jim.” 

The explosion from the trapped rocket knocked him off his feet. When he rose, Soren and the rocket were gone, and only a crater remained. He only had time to mutter, “Yes,” before he heard the call. 

“Captain. Captain Kirk.” It was Picard, and it sounded urgent. He turned. The Enterprise’s Captain was hanging one handed from the remainder of the scaffolding bridge, the rest of which was crushed in the valley below, and he was losing his grip. He raced across the rocks, and threw himself down on the remaining bridge section, seizing Picard’s arm. Between them, they levered him back onto solid ground.  

Lying on the rough surface, staring at the blue grey sky, Kirk panted, “I thought I told you to call me Jim.”  

Picard said, after a few steadying breaths, “Old habits. You have to realise, I learned about you at the Academy. And - it’s Jean-Luc.” 

Kirk extended a bruised hand. “Pleased to meet you, Jean-Luc.” 

Picard’s dirt smeared face broke into a smile and he seized the proffered hand with alacrity. “Likewise, Jim.” 

The adrenaline was beginning to fade. The pain in his head was starting to ramp up again. He said, “Jean-Luc, any chance of a lift from your ship?”  

“I think I can arrange that.”  

“You got a good doctor aboard?” 

“The best. Are you alright?” 

“No. No, I’m not. I -” He inhaled sharply and put a hand to his head. The pain was worse. He heard Picard’s voice say, “Captain?” Then, more alarmed: “Jim!” 

Then the world turned black.  

Romulan Space, 2371  

Spock lay on the bunk at the back of the ship’s small cabin. He’d programmed in the course, and the ship was following it obediently, if with no great speed. He had set the sensors to alert him immediately if any other ships were detected, and with that precaution in place, he had given into tiredness, and slept.  

He awoke with a start, and glanced automatically towards the navigation console. All the readouts were as they should be. Nothing there had awakened him. He had slept for barely twenty minutes. He looked at the grey ceiling of the small bunk space, directly above his head. He had not been dreaming. What, then, had disturbed his sleep?  

He sat up slowly, and walked to the front of the ship, checked the readouts, ran a sensor sweep of the area, and confirmed the course. All was as it should be. In front of him, the stars hung, clear and cold and unhelpful. He walked back to the bunk and lay carefully down again. Closed his eyes. Slowed his breathing. Waited for sleep to claim him.  

Deep in his consciousness, behind walls of grief and decades of denial, past forgotten memories and long-lost joys, in a part of his mind ignored and neglected, the tiny golden ember which had just flickered to life, began to glow.   

San Francisco, Earth, 25th April 2270, evening  

“Jim?  

“Jim, you here?” 

“Bedroom, Bones.”  

Kirk heard footsteps through the apartment, then his former CMO’s head appeared round the door. “There you are, I-” McCoy stopped, and took a step further into the room. “Well, don’t we look dashing. What's the occasion?” 

“Just because I’m not wearing a uniform, there has to be an occasion? In case you didn’t notice, I’m not in command of a ship any more. I can wear other clothes.” 

“You can, but you don’t. Especially not brand-new ones like that. Where are you off to?” 

“Did you come here for something specific, or just to comment on my sartorial choices?” 

McCoy said, “Joanna wants us all to meet for lunch before she leaves town. You, me, Jo, and T’Rena.” 

Kirk looked at him. “Oh, the big meet.” He touched his CMO’s arm as he passed. “Sorry, Bones, I forgot. How did it go?” 

McCoy trailed him into the living space of the small apartment. “You know, it was good. Really good. You were right. T’Rena and Jo hit it off right away. Turns out, T’Rena doesn’t only know about people. She knows about animals too, and Jo’s half way through her veterinary qualification and there are entire modules on xenobiology in off-world species. I barely got a word in.”  

Kirk said, “That’s great.” He put a hand on his CMO’s back, steering him gently towards the door. “That’s really great. Tell Jo I’d love to have lunch with you all. Call me tomorrow and we’ll set it up.” 

McCoy dug his heels in, and they stopped moving. “Alright, what’s going on?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You. Twenty-four hours ago, you were miserable as sin about the mission ending. Now you’re like a cat on coals, and dressed to impress. Who’s coming -” His eyes fell on an overnight bag near the door. “Scratch that, where are you going? We’ve got more debriefs tomorrow.” 

“I know. I’m not leaving town.” 

“So where are you going?” 

“If you must know, I’m meeting someone.” 

McCoy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who?” 

Kirk ran a hand through his hair, then froze, and hurried to the mirror over the fireplace, straightening the disarray he’d just caused. Across the room, McCoy’s look of suspicion faded, and a slow grin began to take its place. He said softly, “Well. I’ll be damned.”  

Kirk turned sharply. “Don’t make a big deal of it. It’s not a big deal. It’s just two friends. Meeting up, talking about – stop smiling like that.” 

“This is my normal smile.” McCoy was grinning.  

“Well, stop it.” Kirk crossed back to his friend, straightening his shirt as he moved.  

“I don’t know why you’re bothering. You know you could show up dressed in scrubs and he wouldn’t care.” 

“The fact that he’s seen me in a lot worse,” Kirk muttered defensively, “is exactly why I’m bothering.” 

McCoy held up the overnight bag. “Going to be a long friendly chat, is it?” 

Kirk snatched it off him and headed for the door. “The next time we go on an extended deep space voyage, you’re not coming.”   

“If you can promise me that, I will never refer to this moment again.” He followed Kirk to the door. As they reached it, he touched his friend’s arm. “Jim.” 

Kirk stopped, took a breath. McCoy said, “I’m really pleased for you. For both of you.” 

Kirk hesitated for only a moment, then stepped forward, and enveloped him in a tight embrace. McCoy froze for a surprised second, then hugged back.

As Kirk stepped away, he muttered, self-consciously, “Thanks, Bones. For, well, you know. Everything.” 

McCoy smiled fondly at his friend, then said abruptly, “What are you still hanging around here for? It’s been five goddamn years. Get out of here before he changes his mind.”  

The walk across the city took a ridiculously short amount of time. He’d been hoping, by the time he arrived, his nerves would have settled. But they hadn’t. If anything, with every step, they’d become worse. 

What if Spock’s feelings didn’t match his own? What if the prospect of sex with his closest friend hadn’t been occupying Spock’s mind for months? He was bringing an overnight bag, for heaven’s sake. He was making some pretty clear assumptions from the moment he walked in.  

He kept walking, following the directions he’d received that afternoon. The evening was beautiful, the sky clear. Stars glittered overhead, and a gentle breeze blew in from the bay. In other circumstances, he’d have slowed his walk, admired the view. He quickened his pace.  

The building wasn’t hard to find. It was a beautiful example of earth architecture, now centuries old, but updated with all the modern technology a visiting alien dignitary might require. The windows had that old fashioned tint that indicated whilst the view from inside might be spectacular, anyone looking inwards wouldn’t see anything at all. He guessed that was a holdover from a time when local people might have been over-eager to catch a glimpse of aliens in their midst. But San Francisco had been host to both Starfleet Headquarters and Starfleet Academy for nearly a century. He doubted that a Klingon in full battle dress wandering down the main street would attract more than a passing glance from the denizens of the city now.   

Sensors at the door, and the lift, granted him access before he had time to wonder how to get in, and on the top floor of the beautifully appointed building, the door to the penthouse apartment was ajar. He took a steadying breath, and stepped inside.  

He was dimly aware of the door closing quietly behind him as he stared around, suddenly glad he’d made an effort with his appearance. The room was large, spacious, and absurdly luxuriously appointed. Opposite him, a huge window gave a spectacular view of the night sky, and the skyline of the bay. He dropped his bag, and moved automatically towards the stars.  

He was almost to the window when movement to his right caught his attention. He turned.  

Spock was standing a few metres away, illuminated by the light from the bay. Jim felt his mouth go dry. Spock was wearing a dark robe, not wholly unlike the one he had worn for meditation aboard the Enterprise. But this material was darker, richer, and even more flattering, emphasising his slim form, his height, and the incredible darkness of his eyes.  

Jim swallowed, said, “Hey.” 

“Hello Jim.” 

After a moment, aware that he was just staring, he managed, “Hope, er, hope you don’t mind,” he gestured vaguely back the way he’d come, never taking his eyes off Spock, “Door was open.”  

“For you.”  

Spock crossed the room, his step measured, and stopped an arm’s length away. “I am – very glad you came.” His tone was oddly formal, and Jim thought, with a sudden fierce surge of affection. He’s nervous too.   

He shot Spock a half smile. “You – didn’t really think I wouldn’t?” 

“The thought had occurred.” 

“Not to me.” 

He took a small step closer. There were only inches between them now. Jim took a breath. He didn’t want to rush this, didn’t want to make any stupid, fumbling mistakes.  

They stood in silence before the window, a panoramic view of San Francisco bay in front of them, with eyes for nothing but each other.   

In the light from the bay, Spock’s face was partially shadowed, and his eyes looked depthless, staring into his from so close, such a small measure of space all that stood between them now, when they had been so far apart for so long. 

Jim’s heart was hammering in his chest, but he couldn’t seem to speak. All the things he’d carefully planned to say, all the declarations of love, of devotion, simply died in his throat as he gazed at the man in front of him. Spock seemed similarly stricken, and around them, the air was hushed and silent, as if the night itself was holding its breath.  

Silently, slowly, he reached up to touch Spock’s face, and run a hand that wasn’t entirely steady across the soft skin of his cheek. Spock leaned his face into the touch, a tiny, elegant movement that still made Jim’s breath catch.  He ran his hand gently to Spock’s hairline, then to his ear, where he ran a finger lightly around its edge, and up to the elegant point. He said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I- I’ve always wanted to –“ 

Spock said, in a quiet voice that was even less steady than his own, “Jim, please, I – “ He raised two shaking fingers and Jim recognised the ozh’esta, and hurriedly fitted his own two fingers against Spock’s. He said, uncertainly, “Is this right? Show me –“   

Spock gently trailed his fingers against Jim’s, running them down one side, then up the other in an achingly slow rhythm, never breaking contact. Jim felt his heart rate, already high, kick up again. Every point of contact between his skin and Spock’s was tingling, like a circuit was being completed. He was almost light-headed with anticipation. If he didn’t get to touch more, feel more, he felt like the world might end.   

With his other hand, he reached for Spock’s extended fingers, drawing them away from his own to press a kiss reverently against the pads.  

When he opened his eyes again, Spock was staring at him, mouth slightly open, and breathing more rapid. His hands came up to hold Jim’s face, gentle, caressing, and he said, “Jim, may I –“ 

“Yes, Spock, yes.” He closed his eyes as Spock drew their lips together. At the first touch, Jim thought he might simply expire. His heart felt like he was sprinting for his life, and he was sweating all over. Spock’s lips were gentle, and soft, and perfect, and his hesitancy, his carefulness, his reverence, was heart breaking. It felt like not enough, and far, far too much, all at once. He was frozen with the enormity of it, felt like if he reacted at all, made any movement, this exquisite, perfect moment would be forever broken.   

After a length of time Jim had no capacity to reckon, Spock drew away slightly and said, uncertainly, “Jim, is this not – pleasing? I – you are not – you do not seem –“ 

The doubt in his face, his anxiety, broke Jim’s heart. He took Spock’s face in his. “Spock, this is –  you’ve no idea. I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long – I don’t know how to – “ he ran a hand through Spock’s hair, across his shoulder, along his arms, to his hands, seized the hand that was still near his face, and pressed it to his cheek, kissing the palm.  “I don’t want to get this wrong – I want you so much, I don’t know where to start, I –“ 

“Kiss me. Please, my Jim, my ashayam. Please – kiss me. I desire you.” Spock was trembling with the force of it. “I have yearned for you; it is impossible that you could not please me. Jim – I beg –“ 

Jim felt his heart crack wide open. All the years of suppression, of ignoring, of pretending not to feel this – this overwhelming, all-consuming feeling – came rushing out in a wave of love, of desire so strong, it was overpowering. He reached up, pulled Spock’s face to his and kissed him. It lacked the gentleness of their first, but he was too far gone for that restraint now. He kissed Spock with all he had, with every moment he had wanted and walked away, with every glance, with every touch, with every time he had looked at him and wanted and been denied.   

In response, Spock wound his arms around him, pulling their bodies into every inch of contact he could, until there was nothing between them but slim, permeable layers of fabric, that did nothing to disguise the rising heat, the slowing forming feedback loop of sensation, and their growing arousal.  

Kissing Spock was like nothing he’d ever experienced. He felt dizzyingly turned on, and cherished, and adored, and although he had initially led their embrace, Spock was fast proving his equal in the arena of amorous exploration. Every moment that they touched drove every previous experience from his mind. Spock’s mouth was hot, and he tasted of spice, and heat, and desert. His body was pressed hard against Jim’s and the sensation made him hyper aware of every nerve ending where their bare skin met. 

Spock was pulling them together so tightly it almost hurt, kissing him back with a fervour that matched every moment of his own. How long, he thought wildly, have you looked at me and wanted this? Against his mouth, Spock made a sudden noise of desperate, abandoned desire, and every thought of caution, of restraint, was driven from his mind.  

He needed to touch more. He fumbled for the front of Spock’s robe, not breaking the kiss. Spock did likewise, grabbing for his shirt, and moaning in frustration when it did not immediately come away. He found the tie for Spock’s robe, and pulled it apart. Underneath, his exploring hand found Spock’s naked chest, and he shoved aside the robe, feeling for every inch of skin he could reach.   

Spock’s skin was heated, his torso muscular and firm. Jim’s exploring hand found his heartbeat, strongest on his lower left side, and racing beneath his caress. In a distant part of his mind, he was aware that his new shirt was no longer intact, but that was an insignificant price to pay for the feel of Spock’s hands on him, the sheer heady sensation of those long, elegant fingers against his bare skin. He could feel Spock’s hands exploring him with a kind of frantic reverence: stroking and caressing, covering every inch of Jim’s torso within reach, as if he were trying to map his form by touch alone. His hands roamed lower, over Jim’s ass and his grip suddenly tightened, almost lifting Jim off his feet and pulling their groins together with a firmness that made Jim gasp into his mouth.  

In response, he moved his own hand lower, across the front of the thin briefs under the robe, and Spock gave a wanton moan, a noise Jim would never have believed him capable of producing, and bucked involuntarily against Jim’s hand. Jim had to break their kiss to catch his breath and steady himself.  

Against Spock’s cheek, he gasped, “I want you so much.”  

Spock’s voice was wrecked, almost incoherent. “Yes. I too. Please, Jim. Please.” 

He seized Spock’s mouth in another bruising kiss. If this had been anyone else at all, he’d have been worried about holding them so tightly, about pushing so hard. But every touch of Spock’s hand reminded him that this was a strength even greater than his own, and absolutely nothing would happen here without Spock’s total engagement. 

He pressed his hand against the front of Spock’s groin, and that hot, hardening length. Spock gave a cry of pure, desperate arousal and Jim moaned into his mouth. They weren’t going to be able to stay upright without support. Without breaking their kiss, he moved Spock backwards, against the window, and trapped him in place.  

Spock moved as if he’d lost all voluntary control of his limbs, his only assistance being to hold Jim so tightly during the move that the distance between their bodies could not increase.  

With his free hand he seized Spock’s, pressing their joined hands against the glass and entwining their fingers together. Then he began to move both hands in the same rhythm. Stroking between Spock’s fingers and along his length, slowly, tortuously, increasing the pressure and speed of his caress.  

Spock threw his head back against the window and made a sound like a wounded animal, gasping for breath. 

Jim had to change his stance so no part of his groin was in contact with Spock. He was already so hard it was almost painful. Any friction at this moment could be fatal.  

Years of duty, of repression, of denial, were stripped away with every breath, every moan, with every kiss. He’d known he would feel this way. Known how much he wanted this, known how Spock’s mere presence could make his skin tingle in anticipation. But he hadn’t considered the effect of Spock’s responses. He’d always imagined Spock to be deeply passionate, but in an understated, Vulcan way. Not obvious, not demonstrative.  

He had been wrong, and his miscalculation had utterly ended any possibility that they might be able to take things slow. To explore each other gradually with the reverence their first union deserved.  Spock was holding him as if their time together was limited, and he wanted to wring every ounce of pleasure, of connection, of love, out of what little they had. He had thrown aside Vulcan reserve as if nothing mattered. Even in his wildest imaginings Spock had never been like this. So openly vulnerable, so nakedly desirous and desperate. For him. For James Kirk. It was shocking, and incredible, and the most intensely arousing reaction he had ever experienced.   

Spock closed his eyes and made a noise that was almost pained. Jim slowed his movements, and forced himself to take a steadying breath. He whispered, “You okay?”  

The eyes that met his were hazy and unfocussed, dark and drowning in desire. Spock took a trembling breath, then rasped, “Control. No control.” 

Jim took his hand from where it held Spock’s against the window and caressed his cheek. “I know. It’s okay. It’s – more than okay. But are you alright?” 

Spock nodded jerkily. “Yes.” Jim leaned forward to kiss him again, slow, and intense, and tender. He took his hand back to entwine their fingers once more and beneath his other hand, his lover’s cock jerked violently.  

He broke their kiss to murmur, “Are you close? I want to see you. Please.” Spock made a broken noise. His eyes were wide, and desperate.  

Jim tightened his grip, and increased the movement of his hand. As Spock tensed, he ground out, “Come for me.”  

Spock’s entire body trembled, then convulsed, and he gave a wild cry that echoed through the space.  

Jim continued to slowly stroke, and kiss, and gentle, keeping himself back from the brink by sheer force of will, until the tension in Spock’s body had subsided. Then he closed the tiny space between them and moved himself in contact with Spock’s thigh. Two thrusts were all it took before he was entirely lost, as the world imploded and he gasped, ”Spock, oh god, Spock,” and clung to the Vulcan with the kind of strength that would have bruised a human, bracing them both against the cool glass to avoid the indignity of crumpling to the floor.  

They stood for a long moment, pressed together, breathing each other’s air.  

Eventually, against Spock’s cheek, he murmured, “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean things to move – quite that fast.” 

He heard a trembling intake of breath, and then, in a quiet, unsteady voice, that nevertheless had something of Spock’s usual dryness, “I am not complaining.” 

Jim huffed a gentle laugh into his neck. “Good. Because I was rather planning to continue in this vein, if that’s alright with you.”  

“I - believe your plan to be - both appropriate and - and apposite.” Spock was clearly trying to conduct the conversation as if they were discussing nothing more interesting than a requisition request for the Enterprise, but his unsteady voice, and the slight tremble that still seized his slim form, was undermining the attempt.  

Jim drew back slightly, raising his head from Spock’s shoulder to see his face.  He’d been planning to make some light comment, about refraction periods, or captains and plans, but the impulse simply died when he saw Spock’s expression.  

His eyes were glistening, and so emotional it made Jim’s own heart clench in turn. His face was full of a kind of stunned adoration, and more openly vulnerable than Jim had ever seen. He said, almost without conscious intent, “I love you. I know I said it yesterday, but I wanted you to know that – I meant it. I wasn’t tipsy, or – or overwrought, or –“ He broke off as Spock suddenly pulled them together, so close that Jim’s head was over his shoulder, cheek against his hair, and he could no longer see his face.  

He breathed to continue speaking, then some deep instinct, instinct that he’d spent his life trusting, told him to stay quiet. He increased his grip on the body against his, trying to quieten the trembling with the weight and warmth of his own body.  

After a still, silent moment, so quiet he barely heard it, Spock said, “And I you. My Jim. My T’hy’la.” His grip tightened, and his head lowered so that his face was buried against Kirk’s neck, and he repeated hoarsely, “And I you.”  

They stood together, wrapped in each other, for a long time. It felt necessary, as if they both needed reassurance that this was finally real: that the other wouldn’t suddenly be pulled away.  

Jim slowly became aware of two things: one, the heated area between them, where their bodies pressed together, was damp, and the window, against which Spock was leaning, was beginning to cool.  

He moved gently against Spock’s grip, pressed another kiss to his lips, and leaned their foreheads together for a moment before taking a tiny step back. He’d never seen anything like the expression on Spock’s face. He looked overwhelmed. Devastated.  

Jim pressed a light kiss to his temple, before giving a gentle tug on their intertwined fingers. “C’mon. Let’s get more comfortable.” He walked them both towards the bed, before saying softly, “As lovely as this is,” he gestured towards Spock’s severely disordered robe, “I’d really like to see you without it.”  

Spock gave him a tiny, trembling smile, before slipping the robe from his shoulders, and removing his ruined briefs. Jim took a step forward, staring covetously at Spock’s naked form, only to walk into Spock’s restraining hand. He tore his eyes from Spock’s chest and looked to his face, to be confronted with a glance towards Jim’s creased, damp, but still in place, trousers.  

Jim followed his eyes and smiled. “Oh, yeah. Fair’s fair.” He slipped out of his trousers, using the wreckage of his shirt to clean himself, then Spock, before pulling the unresisting Vulcan down beside him on the bed. Spock seemed transfixed with Jim’s naked form, never taking his eyes from it, even as they moved. As Jim threw the wrecked shirt to one side, Spock followed the movement, and said, suddenly, “I should –” he made to rise, and Jim pounced immediately, pushing him backwards against the pillows. 

“Don’t you dare move.” He trailed a hand down Spock’s naked torso, admiring the smoothness of his skin and the defined muscles under it. “Not when I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”  He let his eyes roam over Spock’s perfect form, only to realise, as his eyes came back to Spock’s face, that he was doing the same, drinking in the sight of Kirk naked like a drowning man sighting land.  

Jim said softly, “I have the better view.”  

Spock’s eyes, which had been lingering on his groin, came back to his face. He said, hoarsely, “You are – incorrect.” 

“Oh, I see how this is going to go.” He ran a possessive hand down Spock’s chest, before bending to kiss his exposed nipple, an action that drew a light intake of breath. “Less than twenty-four hours out of my command, and you’re giving me back talk.”  

Spock had reached up to run a reverent hand along Jim’s cheek, “I am merely –” Jim lent forward to make a more determined assault on the same nipple, licking and sucking lightly, and Spock’s breath hitched “- correcting your – ah – erroneous –”  

Jim raised his head, innocently, “Sorry – erroneous?” 

“Please - do not desist.” 

Jim leaned forward with a smile and placed a light kiss against his lips. “Be careful what you wish for. If I have my way, you’ll never be rid of me again.”  

“That would be a hardship I would be willing to bear.” Spock’s voice was softer, his face more open, than Jim had ever seen or heard. The look in his eyes was searing. Jim lent forward to claim another kiss. When they broke apart Jim found himself unable to look away. The luxury of being able to look, to touch, when he had been denied for so long, was overwhelming.  

“Jim. You are - staring at me.” 

Jim said, and his smile grew, impossibly, fonder. “I am. I’m staring at you. Because I can. I’ve always loved looking at you. And now I can look at you all I like.”   

Spock said softly, “Jim.”  

“I love you, Spock. I love you. I can say that now too.”  

Spock’s eyes were moist. “And I, you.” He reached across the intimate space between them, ran his fingertips along Jim’s face. As they passed his psi points, he felt a tingle of response.   

As his hand drifted across Jim’s cheek, Jim caught it and kissed the pads, before sucking lightly. Spock gave an involuntary intake of breath.

Kirk broke off long enough to say quietly, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you? It feels like - forever. I can’t remember a time before.” 

 “I have long desired you also, my ashayam.” 

Jim smiled at him, entwining his fingers with Spock's and bringing them both to his lips. “Well, I’m all yours.”  

Spock’s dark gaze met his. Some of his stunned expression had begun to fade, to be replaced with reawakening desire. He ran his free hand possessively over Jim’s bare chest, then pulled him down for a thorough, very human, kiss.  

After a long moment, when they had broken apart, Jim gave a sudden huff of laugher, and laid his forehead against Spock's. “I wish I’d known you felt like this six months ago. I nearly caused a diplomatic incident trying to get you away from Droxine. I was so jealous I could barely see straight.”   

Spock made an odd noise that could have been suppressed laughter, and Jim grinned. Spock said, in quiet amusement, “You had no cause.” Then he added, “I, on the other hand –” 

Jim, who had been running his hand through the hair on Spock’s chest, stopped, and looked at him in surprise. “You – were jealous?” 

Spock said evenly, “Jim, although it is true that I am often in control of my emotions – It is frequently, significantly less true when it comes to you.”    

“Is that your way of telling me – you were jealous too?” Jim was smiling.  

Spock’s tone was gently teasing. “I had more reason to be.”  

Kirk frowned. “Hey, that’s not fair. You were practically married. And I wasn’t allowed – you. I had to keep my hands to myself. Couldn’t touch you. For five years. I get credit for that, surely.”  

Spock raised an eloquent eyebrow. “You did not always keep your hands to yourself, Jim.”  

“I did.”   

“You did not.”   

Jim huffed a laugh. “Okay, I didn’t. But you were – right there. All the time. I’m not made of stone.”   

“And I am,” Spock lifted Jim’s hand, and ghosted his lips against his fingertips, “A touch telepath. Who desired your touch.”  

Jim licked his lips. “I – didn’t think of it like that.”  Spock’s hand had been caressing him for a few minutes now, and he felt his body beginning to respond again. He seized Spock’s hand, and halted the movement, holding it against his chest, not wanting his next words to be lost.  

He said, and the truth of it stung like a brand on his heart, “It’s only ever been you, you know. For – for the longest time. Since before I even realised.” 

Spock stared at him for a long moment, his eyes wide, and shocked, then in a flurry of movement Jim was on his back on the bed, and Spock was on top of him, kissing him in the human and Vulcan ways, whilst pressing their naked bodies together to bring their hardening lengths into contact. The feel of Spock against him, pinning him in place, sent a jolt of arousal through his system so strong, he bucked against his former first officer almost involuntarily.  

There was no sound for a long time but breaths and moans, words of encouragement, words of adoration, and abortive cries of near-nonsense as they explored each other, and gloried in the freedom to do so without hesitance or restraint. The feel of Spock, his heat, his scent, his nearness, his passion, his obvious desire, was bringing Jim to the brink again much faster than he wanted. He gasped, “I’m close – slow or I’ll –”  

Spock looked up from where he was lavishing attention on Jim’s nipple, and that small smile reappeared. He said, and his voice would have been teasing, had it not also been dark with desire. “I shall not. I wish to see you.” Instead of decreasing the friction against Jim’s length, he added his hand, rubbing his thumb against the slit, and increasing the rhythm of his stroking. Jim made a strangled sound of pure need, and thrust into that irresistible warmth as Spock continued to lave his nipple with an agile tongue.  

Jim’s climax hit with a force that would have bucked him violently against Spock, had the Vulcan not held him in place, continuing to gently stroke as he slowly came back to himself, and gazing down at him with something very close to wonder.  

As Jim’s breath began to even out, he became aware that Spock was still hard, and he grinned up in delight. “My turn.”  

In one quick movement he flipped their positions, leaving Spock blinking up at him in surprise. He leaned down for a quick kiss, before beginning to work his way down Spock’s chest, kissing and caressing as he went. Spock began, “Jim, there is no need to –” 

Whatever else he might have said was lost, as Jim reached his destination, and took the head of Spock’s erection into his mouth. Spock’s voice ended in a cry of pure unbridled lust, and he stared down at his former captain in utter disbelief. Jim released him long enough to say, teasingly, “Sorry, you were saying?” Spock did not respond, and Jim returned to his task with the slightly smug smile of man who had successfully rendered a Vulcan speechless.  

Spock’s voice became a litany of random words, moans, and small cries of ecstasy. Jim heard his own name, and a string of Vulcan that he had no hope of deciphering. He reached out, seeking Spock’s hand where it was gripping the sheets, and entwined it with his own. Spock’s other hand came to touch his hair, and he made a noise of encouragement. Spock said, barely coherent, “Jim, I am close – please, I – ah, Jim, ashayam –”  

Jim merely increased his pace, and squeezed the fingers that were in his own. Spock came with a sound that was almost a sob, repeating Jim’s name like a prayer. Jim slowed his pace, gentling and releasing with infinite care, before wiping his mouth and moving back the way he’d come, kissing and nuzzling gently as he went. When he reached Spock’s face, his eyes were closed.  

He placed a light kiss on his forehead. “Hey. You still with me?”  For a moment there was no response, then he was gathered close in Spock’s arms and held with such reverence that it brought a lump to his throat. He wound his arms around Spock in turn, and lowered his face against his neck.  

They lay there for a long time, breathing in sync, and simply drifting. With anyone else, Kirk would have tried to move, concerned that his weight would grow too heavy, but he had no fear of that with Spock, and in his turn, the Vulcan seemed disinclined to release his firm but gentle grip.  

Jim was beginning to doze, when Spock stirred, and he raised his head to see dark eyes looking down at him with open adoration. He smiled. “Hey.” 

“Hello.” Spock smiled back. It was such a rare and wonderful sight, that Jim simply stared in delight for a long moment, before reaching up to press a kiss against it, and then laying his head back against Spock’s shoulder in satisfaction.  

After a while, he said, “It’s good we didn’t do this on the ship. A red alert couldn’t move me right now.”  

Spock made a gentle noise of agreement. “Then we are similarly incapacitated.” 

Jim was running his hand idly across Spock’s chest. Aloud he said, quietly, “Beta Three.”  

Spock blinked at the non-sequitur. “The planet of Landru.” 

Jim smiled against his shoulder. “Yes, and the first time I saw your bare chest.” 

Spock said, in a voice of mild confusion, “And that was - significant?” 

“It was for me. Before that, I just assumed Vulcans didn’t have chest hair at all.” 

“Well, not all Vulcans do, but-” Spock’s confusion was clear, “-why would we not?” 

Jim said, idly, “Well it’s a bit of an evolutionary throwback, isn’t it? Not very – logical.”  

After a moment, Spock’s chest began to shake, and Jim looked up in time to hear Spock make a sound he’d never heard before – laughter. Jim grinned and gazed at him in delight. Spock took a steadying breath, and said, “That is – the most – illogical thing –” he broke off again to suppress another laugh.  

It was the most infectious sound Kirk had ever heard, and he joined in, almost without realising, never taking his eyes off Spock’s face. He wanted to fix this moment forever in his mind.  

As Spock recovered his equilibrium, the question Jim had been thinking about for months occurred to him again, and he said, a little self-consciously, “Spock – can we – can we meld?” 

Spock’s face softened immediately. “Of course. If you wish.”  

Jim smiled.  

“But,” Spock added quickly, “we must not meld during any sexual act.”  

Kirk looked instantly disappointed. “Why not?” 

Spock said, with the air of one explaining the obvious, “It requires a great deal of discipline to maintain a stable meld with a non-telepath. And I would be – distracted. As we are already predisposed to the formation of a bond, there would be a risk of a permanent connection being formed by accident.”  

“Because we are –” Jim spoke the alien word with his usual care “- T’hy’la.” 

“Yes.”  

Jim pressed his lips together for a moment then said, with painfully studied casualness, “Would that – a bond - be so bad?”  

Spock’s eyes widened, then their opaque surfaces became misted, and he reached for Jim’s hand, entwining their fingers. After a moment, he said hoarsely, “It would not. But it would be irrevocable. It cannot be done on an impulse, or under the influence of undue emotion. It must be done soberly, after due time has passed and our feelings have not changed.”  

Jim swallowed, then nodded. “Fair enough. How, er, how long a time exactly?”  

“Jim-” 

“I know, I’m sorry. Always rushing in –” 

“Jim, we cannot know what the future will hold. If you are, as you should be, given command of the Enterprise again, any bond between us would endanger my position as your first officer.”  

Kirk took a breath, and looked away. “Let’s worry about that when we find out whether I’m ever getting anything to command ever again.” He inhaled, making an obvious effort to change the suddenly heavy atmosphere. “So, what you’re saying is: I have to pick one. Sex or meld.”  

Spock blinked. “That is certainly – an interpretation of what I said.”  

“Okay. Meld or sex. Sex or meld.” Jim’s was the exaggerated face of man struggling with a serious dilemma. “Talk about a rock and a hard place. Do you have a preference?” 

Spock looked, for one brief moment, lost for words. “It is – not a dilemma with which I have ever been confronted.”  

“Hmm. Okay, meld first. It’s harder to focus after sex. I tend to want to sleep.”  

“You do not seem especially fatigued thus far.”  

Kirk smiled. “Give me time. We’re just getting started.” He sat up, and pulled the unresisting Vulcan with him. “Right. My temples are at your disposal.” 

Spock merely looked amused. “You do not wish to – dress?” 

Jim blinked. “Not really, no. I mean, you can if you like, but I’d honestly rather you didn’t.” He grinned laviciously at his former first officer, whose attempt to look disapproving failed markedly.  

Spock said with amusement, “Very well.”  

They positioned themselves comfortably in the middle of the bed, and Jim closed his eyes with a smile. After a moment, Spock’s fingers were against his temples, and he felt a rush of sheer joy. As Spock’s presence began to shimmer on the edge of his mental horizon, he sent, Hurry up, get in here.  

Spock’s voice came back, clear and fond, and inside his mind. I am here

His presence was stronger than it had ever been. It was vibrant, and beautiful, and the very essence of the man he loved. It was every time they had laughed together, and cried. Every time they had faced danger, and every time they had overcome. It was a presence indelibly linked with his ship, and the happiest days of his life, and yet it was still itself: whole, entire and wonderful, and everything he never imagined he could have. He sent, with all the mental focus he could muster, I love you.  

But somehow, it felt inadequate. The mere words could not possibly do justice to this feeling. This feeling that was overwhelming, almost frightening, in its intensity. He felt a wave of it overtake him, stronger than he’d ever felt before, and he directed it all to Spock: this unbearable love, this desire, this adoration, this passion: every beat of his heart which said, “I love you, I can love you.” It was all he had, but it was not only his, it was theirs, pure and perfect, and greater than them both.  

Spock gave a sudden cry of distress, and his hands dropped from Kirk’s face. The meld broke so abruptly that Jim gasped. When he opened his eyes, Spock was backed against the head of the bed, his hands braced against the mattress, gazing at Jim in wide-eyed near panic. His breathing was fast and his voice raw as he said, “You – you love me.”   

Jim stared back in confusion. Sitting alone in the middle of the bed, he felt suddenly exposed. “Well – yes.” Wasn’t it clear? “Of course. You didn’t – didn’t you know? I thought – it was obvious. I mean, I – I said so.”   

Spock’s breath was beginning to hitch in a worrying manner. “I – did not realise the – the extent of – I felt it. I felt it.” His voice broke and his eyes had filled with tears. Alarmed, Jim crossed the space between them, reached for him, then stopped abruptly. The need to comfort was visceral, but touching had produced this reaction – Spock made a broken sound that was almost a sob, and Jim had his arms around him, pulling him close before conscious thought could intervene.   

“Spock, it’s okay, you’re okay. I’m sorry I –” he realised he had no idea what he’d done, “– I’m sorry.” He murmured words of comfort, holding him as close as he could. He had feared that Spock might recoil from his touch, but instead he clung to Jim in trembling silence, burying his head in his shoulder as he struggled for control.   

Jim stroked his back, and held him tightly, as the night drew on around them. Spock’s breathing began to even out, then after a while, he began, unevenly, “I am sorry-” 

Jim cut him off. He drew back just enough for Spock to be able to see his face, so there could be no misunderstanding. “Please don’t.  Don’t apologise. Not for emotion. Not with me. Not ever. I’m the one who should be sorry – I just threw all that at you, I –”  

Spock leaned forward, and kissed him.  

It was slow, and reverent, and adoring. It was joy in their connection, and love, and perfect in this intimate silence. They breathed each other’s air, and kissed again, and again, with no rush, no desperate desire, simply a quiet peace.  

When Jim finally slept, it was with Spock’s arm over him, and the warmth of his body against him.  

Sunlight streamed through the window, warming and lighting the apartment. James Kirk came to slow, sleepy consciousness, and blinked in momentary confusion at a richly appointed ceiling, before memory returned. He was on Earth. The Enterprise was no longer his ship. He felt a tightening of grief in his chest, then he turned his head.  

And smiled.

Next to him, on the pillow, Spock was still asleep. His hair was tousled, and too much over one side. His breathing was regular, and rhythmic, his sleep apparently deep, and peaceful.  

Jim’s smile widened as memories of the previous night came back to him. His pain at the ending of their mission, the loss of his ship, the scattering of his crew, had eased with every touch, every kiss, every demonstration of love. He might no longer have the Enterprise, but she had not left him alone. She had given him this: this unique and extraordinary being. His equal. His lover. This incredible intelligence and physical strength combined with a compassionate and beautiful soul that never ceased to inspire and move him. 

Jim shuffled onto his side, and gazed at his former first officer in quiet delight. He reached out a hand, and ran a finger, very lightly, across Spock’s cheek. The Vulcan didn’t stir. The right thing to do in this scenario was obviously to let him sleep. He’d just finished a five-year mission, in deep space, in challenging circumstances, in which he’d been fulfilling two posts at the same time. As his Captain, Jim knew exactly how hard his first officer had worked. He deserved his rest. Jim reached this conclusion quickly, then hesitated for less than a second before blowing lightly on Spock’s cheek.  

When this did not produce a response, he shuffled a little closer, until he could feel the warmth of Spock’s body, then pressed a light kiss to the end of his nose. Spock stirred, and shifted slightly. After a moment, his eyes fluttered open. Jim grinned. “Morning, sleepyhead.” 

This close, he could see every micro expression that played across Spock’s face. After the sleep cleared, the first was utter shock, then disbelief, then an open wonderment and joy that gave a physical life to the feeling currently beating in Jim’s chest. All this took less than a few seconds, before Spock mastered himself, and his face resumed something like its usual neutrality. But the glow in his eyes remained. He said quietly, “Good morning.”  

Jim found that the grin which had lodged itself on his face at the sight of Spock was refusing to move. He said, just for something to say, because simply staring silently at Spock and smiling like a fool might get unnerving, “Sleep well?”  

Spock blinked. “I did, thank you. I was – somewhat tired.” 

“Can’t think why.” Jim deadpanned, “It’s not like you’ve had a stressful few years, or had anyone keeping you awake last night.” 

Spock’s eyes twinkled at him. “It is an insoluble mystery.” 

He grinned back. He reached under the light cover, found Spock’s hand, and interlaced their fingers. Spock’s expression softened instantly. Jim said, quietly, “No regrets?” 

An eyebrow arched in a way that was so familiar, it made his heart swell. Spock said, “What could I possibly have to regret?”  

Jim smiled in relief. “My thoughts exactly.” After a moment, he added, “I am glad we didn’t do this on the ship though. It was hard enough imagining it in theory. After the practice, I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off you. I’d have been a walking liability.” He pitched his voice in an imitation of his chief engineer’s Scottish brogue, “’Where’s the Captain?’” He imitated McCoy’s gentle southern lilt. “’Oh, he’s off taking another cold shower.’”  

Spock looked amused. “I believe you underestimate your own professionalism.” After a moment he added, hesitantly, “You – imagined this?” 

Jim smiled. “This, last night,” he twinkled at the man in front of him, “- tonight.“ On Spock’s expression, he said, “Oh, you didn’t think you were getting rid of me, did you?” 

“I hoped not.”  

“There’s very little chance of me going anywhere whilst you’re here.”  

“Other than headquarters.” 

Jim pulled a face. “Yeah. Other than. Nogura again. Hopefully the last debrief today though. Wait, wait a second – you didn’t imagine this?” 

Spock’s expression was mildly disapproving. “It would have been most inappropriate of me to indulge in such imaginings. You were my Captain.”  

Jim eyed him in amusement. “Nice evasion, but that’s not a ‘no’, is it?” 

The guilty expression on Spock’s face made him laugh out loud. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d be prepared to bet I was worse than you. Honestly, some days there would be entire shifts when I could barely look at you.” 

Spock blinked. “You imagined – on the bridge?” His voice was slightly scandalised.  

Jim said, defensively, “You were right there! Practically in my eye line, and it’s not like we were saving the Federation every shift – some shifts were quiet. And you were very distracting. There was a chair at that science station, you know, you could have used it more.”  

Spock frowned. “For what purpose?” 

“To sit in! Instead of,” Jim gestured, “bending over all the time.” 

Spock began, “In order to utilise the sensors, and the overhead –“ he broke off “– why would it be distracting if –“ he broke off again, and stared accusingly at Jim. 

In response Kirk pulled their cover over his head, and from beneath it came, “Yes. Okay. I was looking at your ass. You have a really fine ass. There, I said it, happy?” 

An odd noise made him pull the covering back, and he realised, he was, for the second time in their relationship, watching Spock trying – and failing – to suppress laughter. He grinned in delight. “Oh that’s right, laugh it up. Come on, you didn’t think about me on the bridge at all? Throw me a bone here.” 

Spock recovered himself quickly. After a moment, he said reluctantly, “You have – a very pleasing aroma. It was particularly – notable when you stood close to me.”  

“Are you saying I smell?” 

“It is a very pleasing scent, and only noticeable when one is possessed of a sensitive olfactory nerve, and you are very close. As you frequently were. For no reason that I could adequately discern.” 

“The readouts on that science station weren’t big, you know, I had to be able to see them.”  

“It was – somewhat distracting.”  

“Was it?” 

“Yes.” 

Kirk shuffled closer with a teasing smile. “How distracting?”  

“In the latter half of our mission? Very.”  

Kirk’s face was getting inexorably closer to Spock’s. Until he said, reluctantly, “Jim, you must prepare for your meeting with Admiral Nogura.” 

Spock was treated to the rare sight of James Kirk, renowned starship captain, and hero of the Federation, pouting. “I don’t want to meet Nogura. I want to stay with you.” 

“I will be here when you return.”  

Jim’s face relaxed into a genuine smile. “Promise?” 

Spock said with amusement, “Where would I go?” 

Jim’s smile faltered. “Well, Vulcan.”  

“My ship does not leave for two days.”  

Jim sat up, his teasing bonhomie falling away entirely. He took a breath, then turned to the man next to him.  

“Spock – don’t go. Stay on Earth.” His face was serious. “Teach at the Academy. I couldn’t say that before, when I was your Captain. I had to give you the best career advice. And I know – I know I’m being selfish even asking –” 

“I shall stay.” 

“- and I should still be telling you to go, but – what?” Kirk blinked.  

Spock said mildly, “I shall inform the Academy today that I wish to avail myself of their offer of a teaching position, and convey my regrets to the Admiral.” 

Jim stared at him. “Just like that?” 

“Yes.” Spock’s face was gently amused.  

“But –” Kirk licked his lips, “-what about your career, Spock, you need –”  

“Teaching and researching at the Academy is not a step backwards, Jim.” 

“Well, no, but –”  

“And,” Spock hesitated, then added quietly, but firmly, “I wish to be with you.” 

Kirk had opened his mouth to protest again, but stopped, a smile beginning to spread across his face. “Really?” 

Spock looked as if he were barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “Of course. Now, you must dress and go to Headquarters.”  

Jim was smiling at him with an expression like he’d hung the stars 

Spock began, “Jim. You must –” 

Kirk leaned forward and kissed him. Slow, and intense, and tender. All thoughts of Nogura were driven from Spock’s mind in an instant. Until Jim drew back with immense reluctance. “I really do need to go. Don’t want to upset the old bruiser when I still want him to give me my ship back.”  

“Indeed.” 

“You’ll be here.” 

“I will.” Spock glanced down at his naked form. “I may dress, however.”  

Jim sighed in theatrical disappointment, then perked up, “Will you be wearing that robe you had on yesterday?”  

Spock raised an eyebrow. “It requires cleaning.”  

“Oh. Yeah. Shame.” On Spock’s expression, he added, with a wry grin. “You looked incredible in it. I’ve never seen you in anything I wanted to take off you so much.”  

Spock blushed, distinct and obvious, and Jim grinned again. Spock eyed him censoriously and said, “You will be late.” 

Jim heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Right. Yes. Duty calls. Again.” He slid out of bed and took a step away, before turning back and pointing a finger at Spock. “Don’t. Go. Anywhere.” 

“Yes, Captain.” Spock’s face was entirely neutral.  

Kirk shot him a look, before scooping up a fallen pillow and aiming it at his head. As Spock plucked it from the air, he turned towards the bathroom, muttering in amusement, “No sense of humour, my ass.” 

Spock’s own interview with one of Nogura’s aides was a short, box ticking affair in the early afternoon. Jim was nowhere to be seen, so he headed back to their apartment, and finding it empty, commenced with some of the final report revisions Starfleet had requested. After almost three hours of work, a familiar voice interrupted his concentration. 

“Spock!” 

Spock looked up from his screen. The sound of running feet echoed in the corridor outside, then the door to the apartment flew open, and Jim appeared, sweating and out of breath. 

Before Spock could enquire as to the cause, he had crossed the room, and skidded to a halt, leaning on the table in front of Spock. He panted, “They’re going to refurbish her.” He took another breath. “And I get first refusal on the Captaincy.”  

He met Jim’s eyes, and they were brimming with tears, whether from exertion or emotion, it didn’t matter. “Spock – they’re giving her back to me.” 

He rose, reached for his former Captain. “Jim, that is – “ it was as far as he got. Kirk was on him in a flash, kissing him breathless before he could say anything else.  

Jim broke the kiss long enough to say, “You’re coming too, right?”  

He looked into the eyes of the man he adored, alight with joy, and hope, and love. A man seeing all of his wildest dreams coming true.  

He said quietly, “Of course.” 

Jim said, “Oh! Scotty! I need to give him a call.” He pressed a kiss to Spock’s lips. “I’ll be just a minute.” 

Spock watched as his lover crossed the room to the computer terminal, and sat to connect his call. He wanted Jim to be happy, wanted that light in his eyes never to fade. But – in what capacity was Jim proposing he accompany the newly refurbished Enterprise? The thought of being to Jim only a fellow officer, a colleague – even one who was also first officer, and a friend – was anathema now. He loved this man. Loved him with a soul-deep fire that traced its roots to ancient warriors, with a bond that was rare and treasured. Their relationship could not be what it had been. Surely Jim had considered this?  

Across the room, Jim glanced up, mid-sentence, and grinned, before returning his attention to the screen. Spock returned to his own terminal, and sat. He would speak to Jim of this. When the initial elation had passed.  

After an hour of calls, Jim’s stomach alerted him to pleasant scents emanating from the kitchen. He abandoned the terminal, and entered to find Spock standing over a large pot on the shining cooker. He crossed the room, and stood next to his former first officer in pleased surprise.  

“You’re cooking.” 

“As you see.” 

“This smells really good. I thought we were eating out tonight?” 

“I considered the possibility,” Spock added a pinch of a spice Jim didn’t recognise to the pot, “and rejected it.”  

“Suits me, but why?” 

Spock gave him one of his almost smiles. “I find – I have you exactly where I want you.” 

Kirk grinned, and repeated happily, “Suits me.” And leaned closer to examine the contents of the pot in front of Spock. “What’re we –“ 

Spock took a breath. Kirk froze, then looked at him with suspicion. “Did you just smell me?” 

“I did not.” 

“Liar.” 

“You are standing unnecessarily close.” 

Kirk looked at the inches between them. “This is perfectly normal.” He took a step closer, so he was pressed along Spock’s side, not even air between them. “Now this would be too close.” 

“You are being absurd.” Spock’s eyes were amused.  

“I’m not the one who brought this up, Mister Personal Space Issues.”  

Spock was looking at him with such fondness, that Kirk said with a smile, “What?” 

“It occurs to me,” Spock said, “that I have never known you without a command. I am forced to conclude that a starship is a steadying influence on you.” 

Kirk grinned happily at him. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve always been like this.” He grabbed a spoon and reached into the pot. 

Spock removed his hand, and received a put out stare for his trouble. “Jim, if you had always been like this, I would have been forced to assume command within weeks.”  

“Has it occurred to you,” Kirk put down the spoon and leaned against the counter next to Spock, folding his arms, “That this might be your bad influence? I mean, I’ve always been the textbook officer. But one night with you and I’m making excuses to a fleet Admiral as to why I can’t make a meeting on time.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “To which textbook do you refer? Would this be one you have written?” 

“Ha-ha, funny guy. I’ll have you know I’d write an excellent textbook.” 

Spock said, with heart-warming sincerity, “I have no doubt of it.” 

Kirk smiled, and leaned across to plant a light kiss on his lips. As he leaned back, he said, “I don’t know where you get that I’ve changed, I’d never have guessed you were a sentimental old romantic, and yet, here we are.”  

Spock hesitated for merely a second. “I am not old.”  

Kirk stared at him in surprise, then laughed in delight. 

Two hours later the meal was eaten, they had retired to the couch with a view of the bay, and Jim had announced his intent to get a kitchen installed in his quarters on the new Enterprise, so Spock could add Captain’s chef to his already impressive list of duties.  

Spock replied, in amusement, that he would not wish to usurp Doctor McCoy’s role in monitoring the captain’s diet.  

Jim frowned. “Oh, good point. Maybe I shouldn’t ask him back for the next trip.”  

“You would be unable to replace him with a CMO of similar calibre.” 

Jim grinned. “Bones never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly his biggest fan.” 

“The doctor frequently belittles his own professional competence. I am merely redressing the balance. That I do not do so in his hearing is....mere coincidence.” 

Jim laughed and gazed fondly at his former first officer. “Well, much as I love him, I don’t want to spend the evening talking about Bones.” 

Spock rose to the bait immediately. “How would you like to spend the evening?”  

Jim assumed an exaggerated expression of concentrated thought. “The whole night ahead of us. No red alerts, no drills, no reason for us to be disturbed at all, in fact. What shall we do? What shall we do?” 

Spock said, as if he were announcing the weather, “I would be interested in hearing more about your inappropriate thoughts in relation to me when I was under your command.” 

Kirk who had just taken a sip of his drink, almost coughed it back up. “What? You can’t just say – I’m not telling you that!”  

Spock blinked innocently at him. “Jim, you are blushing.” 

“Of course, I’m blushing –“ 

Spock looked amused. “It is most illogical to be embarrassed by one’s fantasies.” 

“I’m not embarrassed,” Jim cleared his throat. “you just – took me by surprise, that’s all.” 

Spock said gently, "Jim, if you do not wish to share, that is of course, fine.”  

“No, I do, I do –" he broke off. Then began again, "It’s just –“ he set his drink down and heaved a self conscious sigh. “I’m being an idiot.” 

Spock looked at him evenly. “I doubt that very much. Illogical, yes, very likely. Idiotic? No.”  

Kirk shot him a half smile, then his levity fell away, as he took a breath.

After a moment, he said, “It’s – there’s this thing. When you’re a captain. Or even just on the higher command track. You must have noticed it. No one ever says anything, but you always know what they’re thinking. That you’ll be, you know, in command. Taking the lead. All the time. And –" he swallowed. "and that’s good, that’s as it should be. One of my tutors at the academy used to say that you shouldn’t need the stripes for people to know you’re in command. And she was right. But it gets – wearing. You know. Sometimes.  

“And I imagined,” he took another breath. “That it wouldn’t be like that with you. Yes, I know there are three stripes on my sleeve and two on yours, but that’s just – the nature of the job. The buck has to stop somewhere. It doesn’t really mean anything in terms of who we are – who we are to each other. God, I’m actually rambling – is this – is this making any sense?” 

He looked up. Spock was listening intently, his head on one side, taking in every word. Slowly he nodded. “Entirely.” 

“Oh, good. I guess that was a really long way of saying – and I know I’ve got more experience here, but based on current evidence, that’s not a problem for you – if you wanted to, you know –“ he broke off. “Sorry. I really am rambling now.”  

Spock said quietly, “You are making perfect sense. And I am honoured.” He reached out a hand, entwined their fingers, and said, “May I tell you -about my inappropriate imaginings involving my Captain?” 

Jim’s eyes widened. “I knew you had them.” 

Spock almost smiled. “Of course. Just not,” he added censoriously, “on the bridge.” 

“Oh, of course not, no. Most inappropriate.” Jim coughed.  

“There was one that reoccurred more than once.” 

“Well, I definitely want to hear about that one.”  

“In my defence –“ 

Jim grinned. “Well, this is going to be good.” 

“I dreamt of it first during my time, so we could argue I was not in my right mind.” 

Jim raised his eyebrows. “And the subsequent times?” 

“I - would not have that defence.” 

“Just so we’re clear.” 

"So." Spock cleared his throat. “We are - on the bridge -” 

“Woah, hold on,” Kirk’s interruption was quick, “I thought fantasies on the bridge were forbidden.”  

Spock shot him a chastising look. “Fantasising whilst on the bridge, whilst on duty, is highly inappropriate. Fantasies that take place on the bridge, imagined whilst off duty, whilst perhaps not entirely appropriate, are nevertheless permissible.”  

Kirk looked at him in delighted amusement. “My, we’re splitting that hair particularly fine, aren’t we?” 

“The two things are entirely different,” Spock said archly. “May I continue?” 

Jim smothered a grin. “Of course, yes, sorry. Far be it from me to interrupt your appropriate bridge fantasies.” 

“We are on the bridge. It is ship’s night, and we are alone.” 

Kirk frowned. “Just the two of us? On the bridge? Does this end with me demoting someone for dereliction of duty?” 

Spock shot him a look that was half amusement, half frustration.  

“Sorry, sorry. Quite right. Not in the spirit. Carry on.” 

“We are alone. I am working at my station. You walk across to me, and lean casually against the station next to me. You are out of uniform.” 

Kirk cocked his head. “How out of uniform?” 

Spock cleared his throat. “You are wearing your casual blue shirt, and khaki trousers. You are -barefoot.” 

Kirk raised his eyebrows, and blinked. “That’s - some of my actual off-duty clothes. But I’ve worn them maybe half a dozen times in five years? I’m surprised you noticed.” 

“They are – quite flattering.” 

Kirk grinned. On Spock’s expression, he straightened his face and said, “Sorry. Again. Carry on.” 

“You are, as you frequently are, far closer to me than is necessary.” 

Kirk held up a hand. “How close, exactly?” 

“Jim, do you wish me to relay this story?” 

“You’re the one who keeps bringing up the personal space issues. I think it’s time we established once and for all: how close is too close?” 

Spock made a noise of slightly strained patience. “Very well.” He rose, and indicated that Kirk should do likewise.  

Jim did so with a grin. “So, you’re at your station, and I come along, all ‘How’s all the clever science stuff coming along, Spock?’ and I stand here.” He positioned himself an entirely reasonable distance from his former first officer.  

Spock turned and regarded the distance between them with distain. “Jim, you would not stand there.” 

Kirk raised his hands. “Okay, fine. Let’s swap. You be me.” 

He stood with his back to his former science officer and muttered, “Clever science stuff, clever science stuff,” before turning his head to comment on the distance, and jumped in surprise. Spock was directly behind his right shoulder, close enough for his breath to ruffle Jim’s hair.  

“I did not stand that close.”  

“Yes, you did. Frequently.” Spock’s voice was amused.  

Kirk said defensively, “Well, the readouts on those science monitors were really small.” 

“Have you considered you may require some form of ocular enhancement?” 

“Oh, shut up. I don’t need glasses.” 

“I believe you may be mistaken.” 

“The readouts on the engineering station are the exact same size, and I could practically read them from my chair.” 

Spock cocked his head. “Then I believe my point is made.” 

Kirk sighed in defeat. “Alright. Fine. I liked standing close to you. And you never seemed to mind.” He turned, so they were face to face. “You - didn’t mind, did you?” 

Spock smiled then, and it was soft and open, and made Jim want to kiss him again. He said softly, “I did not. I would, however, have minded if you had stood so close to anyone else.” 

Jim grinned. “Good thing it was just the science station where my spatial awareness failed me then.” 

“Indeed.”  

He slipped his arms around the Vulcan’s lithe form. “I interrupted you. You were telling me a story.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I am unconvinced you truly wish to hear it.” 

“I do. No more interruptions, I promise.” He pressed his lips together firmly and looked at the Vulcan in mute appeal.  

“Very well.” Spock had embraced him in turn, and his hand came to rest in the small of Jim’s back. “You are standing too close to me. You voice is deeper, more resonant, than your usual tone on the bridge.”  

His hand began to stroke slowly, a repetitive, circular motion against Jim’s back.  

“You address me directly. You accuse me of – keeping secrets from you. I do not respond. You move even closer. I can feel the heat of you against me.”  

Almost unconsciously, Jim tightened his grip.  

Spock continued, “I deny it, but we both know I am not speaking the truth. You tell me that you know of my feelings for you. That you know I would like to disregard the rank between us. That you know -” His own timbre roughened, as he added, “I would like to have you.”  

Kirk drew an unsteady breath. Spock continued, in that same deepened tone, “It is my time. I am losing control of my impulses. I reach for you, but you pull away. You move to lean against the command chair. You tell me, that you are not so easy to have. That if I want you,” he held Kirk’s gaze and ran a possessive hand across his jaw, "I will have to take you.” 

Jim’s eyes widened, and his intake of breath was quick. “Damn, Spock.” 

“Do you wish me to continue?” 

“What? Yes. Yes, continue.” 

“I follow you, and pin you against the command chair. I am entirely in your power. You pull me close against you, so that I can feel your arousal. Through your clothes, and,” he entwined their hands and raised them into view, “through your skin.”  

Kirk swallowed. Spock said, softly, “I am kissing you. You are beyond exquisite: you drive me to utter distraction. I kiss your neck, your chest,” his hand moved to caress those areas of Jim’s body as he spoke. “You run your hands through my hair and hold my head in place, until I am drowning in the scent and taste of you. Your closeness is unbearable, but not enough. I break free of your grasp. I tell you I must have you, and you laugh. I beg. You take me in your hand and stroke me until I am trembling against you, then release me. You tell me,” he drew Jim’s hand to his mouth and began to press soft kisses against his fingers, “that you are not to be had by those who simply wish it. You tell me,” he was kissing his way down Kirk’s palm, to his wrist, and Jim was watching his every move, eyes blown wide, “that you must be claimed. 

“And then, you step away.” He stopped, loosening his grip on Jim’s hand.  

Kirk swallowed. After a mere second’s pause, he said, “But - you’re not just going to let me go, after that, are you?” 

Spock gave him an almost smile. “I am not. I pull you back, turning you against the chair and pinning you in place. I kiss the back of your neck, your shoulders, as I begin to strip your clothing from you.” 

Beneath his hands, Kirk shivered.  

“When you are entirely naked before me, I pull you back against me. My tunic feels rough against your skin.” He ran a hand down Kirk’s back. “I run my hands across your bare chest. I need to feel every inch of you. Your skin is heated, and smooth under my touch. I kiss your neck. You turn your face to mine and I claim your mouth in the human fashion, whilst I caress down your chest, your stomach, and then take you in hand. But I need not: you are so hard for me already.”  

Spock's hands had moved down Jim's back, and were now stroking his ass with intent. “You start to writhe against me, begin to moan into my mouth, thrust against my hand. I am desperate for you, but I do not wish things to end so soon. I release you, and you slump against the chair. 

“Before you can recover, I lean over you, holding you in place. I use my own arousal to lubricate myself before entering you, achingly slowly. You writhe and gasp beneath me, and I stop, but continue to hold you, caress you, kiss you.” 

True to his word, he was stroking the bare skin of Kirk's back where it met the curve of his ass, occasionally dipping his hand lower to squeeze and caress possessively. In the almost non-existent space between their bodies, he could feel Jim's arousal as he continued to speak.  

“Before long you ask me to move. I do so with care, but you are impatient, and push back against me. I move until I find the spot inside you that makes you cry out with pleasure. Then I take you in earnest. The feel of you is exquisite, your reactions are arousing beyond belief: you are simply perfection. I realise then that I am truly lost. No one could be to me as you are: I will never know pleasure like that with you."

Spock's voice was soft. “We move together as one towards our shared peak. Our cries echo around the empty bridge. You beg for more, and I respond, claiming you as my mate, my other self, my equal. As I move in you, faster, harder, you call out my name, and I yours. You thrust helplessly, mindlessly, into my hand and begin to come, your cries echoing around the bridge. I can feel your pleasure. It seeps through your skin like an earthquake and I am utterly helpless against my own climax, pulling you to me convulsively as I cry your name against your neck.” 

Spock broke off. His breathing was a little unsteady. After a long, long moment, Kirk drew back, and looked him full in the face. He took a unsteady breath in, then breathed out very slowly. “Okay.”  

Spock said, uncertainly, “It was merely – We need not –“ 

Jim pressed a finger to his lips. “Here’s what’s happening now. We’re going over there, and you are going to make good on that entire scenario, and I was listening extremely carefully, so don’t even think about missing anything out. Then we’re going to have a good long chat about any other scenarios you might have spent the last five years coming up with. Clear?” 

Moonlight streamed over the bay and into the window of their apartment. James Kirk never usually had trouble sleeping, but tonight he watched its glow creep across the end of their bed, before looking back at the sleeping Vulcan next to him. In the moonlight, he looked like a long-lost mythical creature: a sprite, an incubus, ready to vanish with the dawn.  

Jim shuffled closer until he could feel the warmth of his bedmate against his skin. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want this perfect, unsurpassable night to ever end.  

He watched Spock’s eyelids flicker in sleep, his chest gently rise and fall. How had he got so lucky? Starfleet was giving him back the Enterprise, and fate, or God, or whatever deity watched over the life of starship captains, had given him this. His perfect partner. His soulmate. He had never imagined that there would be anyone like this for him. He had accepted the almost inevitable loneliness of his path many years ago. Had thought it would never change.  

He reached out a hand and gently nestled his fingers against Spock's where they lay on the bed, as if seeking proof of his reality. The Vulcan did not stir.  

Spock had fallen asleep with his arm around Jim, and only Jim’s own movement had dislodged it. He thought again of their evening. Of Spock’s confession of desire. He had honestly been naive enough to think that he knew this man. That Spock would be unable to surprise him, let alone render him almost speechless and unbearably aroused by only talking to him for a couple of minutes. 

Their sex after Spock’s confession was utterly unmatched in by any experience he had ever had. He had come in Spock’s arms, almost sobbing with the intensity of it, and entirely, completely overwhelmed. It was the kind of lovemaking he had never thought he could have. The kind he had never even allowed himself to admit to wanting. Total surrender to another. Complete trust, rewarded with maximal pleasure, and deep emotional release.  

Spock had been almost as affected, which  was probably contributing to the heaviness of his current sleep, as his subconscious sought to parse the events of the day.  

And they had years ahead of them. Years to grow this love, this trust, this bond, into something truly extraordinary. He felt his eyes misting again as he stared at the man before him. 

What did I do to deserve you?  

Spock was reviewing the last of his mission reports for command the following afternoon when Jim sighed from the opposite end of the table. He glanced up. Jim looked - despondent. Spock stared at his former captain in surprise. Jim’s mood had been buoyant to the point of near absurdity all day. He had not been able to so much as glance in Jim’s direction without receiving a smile which would rival a supernova, and had not been able to move within arm’s reach of him within being kissed to within an inch of his life.  

He was therefore more than a little taken aback by the slump of Kirk’s shoulders. He said, “Jim. Is all well?” 

Kirk looked up. “What? Oh, yes. I mean, yes, of course.” He ventured a half hearted smile. “Everything’s great.” 

Spock merely raised an eyebrow. Kirk sighed again. “I’m being illogical. I know that. I know. I’ll just – miss her, is all.”  

Spock said patiently, “Jim, to whom do you refer?” 

Jim pushed the padd across the table. On it, a schematic of the Enterprise was clearly visible. He said, “From Scotty. The refurb begins tomorrow. By the looks of it, they’re going to strip her to the bare bones and start again. I know, it’s good news. Really good. She’ll be all new. Basically, a new ship. But –“ he broke off, “God, I’ll miss the old one. I wish – I wish the last day hadn’t been such a rush. That I’d had a chance for a proper goodbye.” 

He gave his lover a wry grin. “I know. Not logical.” 

Spock said thoughtfully, ignoring his last comment, “If the refurbishment begins tomorrow, could we not say goodbye – today?”  

The turbolift doors opened, and Kirk took a slow breath before stepping out. The first thing that struck him was the blank viewscreen. No stars were visible in that usually vibrant rectangle of space. The second was the silence. There were no hushed voices, no beeps of responding control panels, no low hum of the ship’s engines. Just silence. The bridge lighting was dimmed. It looked abandoned. Kirk swallowed, and stepped down to the command chair, running his hand possessively along the backrest, allowing his eyes to roam the space before him. He heard the voices of his crew, remembered the times he had sat here, some of the proudest, and happiest, of his life.  

He said, and his voice was choked. “She was a great ship.” 

Spock had walked almost automatically to the science station. He said, with gentle certainty, “She will be again.” 

Kirk nodded. “I hope so. I really do.” He rounded the command chair, and sat. He loved this chair. He looked around. He hoped they didn’t do anything too radical with the bridge redesign. He liked this positioning in relation to the other stations – his eyes stopped at his former first officer. He smiled, some of his melancholy mood falling away. “Spock?” 

The Vulcan looked up from where he had been examining the science station. Kirk would have bet an awful lot that Spock’s thoughts about the redesign had been similar to his own. “Yes, Cap - yes, Jim?” 

Kirk’s smile widened. “Readings, science officer?” 

Spock looked at his former Captain, to his station, and back to Jim. “There are no readings. There is no power to the bridge stations. As you are aware.” 

Kirk leaned his elbow on the arm of the command chair, and rested his head on his hand, blinking at Spock. “Humour me.” 

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow, but turned as requested and bent over the viewing scanner built into the station. Then suddenly turned, and levelled an accusing stare at his former captain.  

Kirk smiled innocently, and gave a 'carry on' wave.  

After a moment, Spock turned back, and in the voice of one not entirely sure he was executing a task correctly, said, “We are currently orbiting the third planet in the system. Sensors indicate it to be m-class, with a wide variety of life.” He became aware of movement behind him. As he would have done in reality, he reached to activate the overhead screen, to give the Captain a view of the readout. He began, “The atmosphere is -” As he did so, hands slipped around his waist, and there was suddenly a solid mass of warm human pressed against his back. He broke off in surprise. There was a light kiss pressed to his neck, then Kirk’s voice murmured, “Carry on. Don't let me interrupt.”  

Spock licked his suddenly dry lips. “The atmosphere is, er, nitrogen -” Kirk was kissing his way around Spock’s neck, “ - and oxygen, with – ahh” Kirk’s mouth had reached his ear. “Jim, you are being distracting.” 

“Mmmm. You know those inappropriate bridge thoughts we talked about? Well, I always wondered how you’d react if I did this. Think of it as – an experiment.” He pressed another warm kiss to the shell of Spock’s ear. “Carry on, Mister Spock. You were saying.” 

Spock took a steadying breath. “The planet’s population is approximately nine billion, including various orbital stations, and lunar –” Jim's hand had slipped lower. He drew a sharp breath. “Jim, we are on the bridge.” 

“See, it’s those razor sharp observational skills,” Jim’s hand had found the edge of Spock’s tunic, and the warm skin beneath, “that made you so valuable as a science officer.” He ran his hand lower, over the material of his trousers, and stroked against the length he found there.  

Spock drew a sharp breath.  

“Jim –“ Kirk’s other hand had slipped under his shirt and was toying with his chest.  

He took a breath and tried again. “Jim – oh.” Kirk’s lips brushed his ear.  

Kirk paused his gentle assault to whisper. “Five years, I had to look at you like this. Years of behaving myself. Of just looking. Of never touching.” 

Spock could feel a hardness against him, even through the material of Kirk’s clothing. His former captain began to move slowly, thrusting against him, even as he pressed a hand more determinedly against Spock’s groin, moving in that same slow but relentless rhythm.  

Spock could feel mastery of his physical responses slipping away with impressive speed. Beneath his convulsively tightening grip, a console switch snapped. Kirk’s voice said, husky with arousal, “Good thing we’re getting her refurbished.” He bent his head back to Spock’s ear.  

Many minutes later, as they appraised each other's dishevelled, damp appearance with dismay, Kirk cleared his throat. “You know, I bet I could talk that transporter tech into beaming us directly back to the apartment. If you’ve got the co-ordinates?”  

He looked hopefully at Spock.  

Late that evening, they were huddled together on the couch under the window, as Jim went over the plans for the new Enterprise for the hundredth time, making notes and corrections as he went, and bouncing ideas and changes off his former first officer, who had long since given up any attempt to read his own padd.  

Kirk was saying, “I don’t like this new bridge layout.”  

Spock's voice was mild. “The rationale for the new layout is well considered.” 

Kirk made a noise of disdain. “By someone who has never worked on a bridge. Look at this.” He pointed to the diagram. “If I want to see the science station from the centre seat, I practically have to stand up. The chair doesn’t even move!”  

“Jim, there is no necessity for you to be able to see the science station from the command chair. That is why you have a science officer.” 

Kirk frowned. “Of course I need to see the science station, I –“ On Spock’s expression, he stopped. “For good reasons. For sensible, command-related reasons.” 

Spock's eyebrow quirked.  

Kirk smothered a smile. “Oh, be quiet.” He went back to studying his padd.  

A few more minutes went by.  

Then Spock said, carefully, “Jim, I have been wondering. In what capacity do you wish me to accompany you on the new Enterprise?”  

Kirk looked up, and blinked. “Well, I was thinking first officer and science officer. Exactly what you did before.” He frowned. “Unless you’d like me to ask command for a science officer. I was thinking about that, it is a lot to –“ 

Spock raised a hand. “That was not my concern. I would be more than content to fulfil my previous duties.” He reached out, took Jim’s hand from where it rested against the padd, and entwined their fingers. “That is not what I was referring to.” 

Kirk looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Spock. “Oh.” 

Spock continued quietly, “If word of our relationship reaches ‘fleet command, I will be reassigned.” 

Kirk frowned. “We don’t know that for sure.” 

Spock took a breath. “We do. When your captaincy of the new Enterprise was confirmed, I contacted Admiral Nogura with a hypothetical situation involving unnamed crew. His position was quite clear. Whilst there is no objection to childless couples serving together on the same ship, he will not allow them to be in each other’s direct line of command. And certainly not - in the higher ranks.” 

Kirk lowered the padd. “He said that?” 

“He did.” 

“Damn.” After a moment of silence, he squeezed Spock’s hand where it lay in his own. “Well, that’s easy then, we just don’t tell him.” 

“Jim, he will find out.” 

“No, he won’t. Why would he?” 

Spock stared at him. “Because there will be over five hundred crew on the new ship. And their Captain and First officer will be sleeping together.”  

“Not in front of them.” 

“Jim -” 

“Why does anyone need to know?” Kirk’s tone was defensive. “It’s no-one's business.” 

Spock said patiently, “They will find out. However discrete we are, however careful. They will find out. Starships are too small for secrets to be kept. You know this.” 

“We can hide it.”  

Spock stared at him in disbelief. “Jim, we cannot.”   

“We managed it last time.” 

“That was entirely different.” Spock’s tone had risen slightly. “We had not embarked on a physical relationship. We were not certain of our own feelings. We did not know –” he broke off “I had not felt –” he stopped again.

Jim was watching him closely, brown eyes shadowed with concern.  

Spock finished quietly, “It will not be as easy as you imagine.” 

Jim sighed. “You’re right. I know you’re right. Now that we've - there'll never be a time when I don’t want this." He frowned. "But Spock, you're the best first officer in the fleet. By a goddamn light-year. I don't want anyone else. I want you. And I want the Enterprise. And I won’t -” Jim threw the padd onto the low table near their feet, “I won’t choose, dammit.” He made a noise of frustration. “I’m not prepared to accept there isn’t a way I can have you both.” 

He held out a hand. “Come on, it’s late. Come to bed. We'll talk about it tomorrow. There will be a way. We just need to figure it out.” 

Spock took the proffered hand, and rose with him.  

Jim said, on a sigh, “If all else fails we’ll have to pretend it’s the first cruise all over again, control ourselves, and just stare longingly at each other. God knows I ogled you enough anyway. I don’t think anyone will notice the difference.” 

They made love into the early hours of the morning. He had never imagined a relationship with someone so open, so expressive of their feelings. By the time Jim slept, curled against him in the dim light, he could still hear the whispered “I love you” that had been murmured against his skin as sleep began to claim his lover.  

To be together, but apart. To see him, touch him, but not to know his mind. Jim was asking for the impossible. He could not look on his t’hy’la and not love him, not touch his t’hy’la and not want him, not hear his voice, and not desire his mind. Everything inside him screamed for completion of their bond, consummation of their union. The emotions associated with Jim were overwhelming, terrifying in their intensity. He felt weak before them, child-like and frightened, as all of the logic and reason he had grown up with and relied on all of his life were helpless before the onslaught.   

I want you, and I want the Enterprise. I refuse to believe there’s not a way I can have you both.   

The vista of the bay lay in front of him, beautiful and calm, lit by stars and earth’s single moon. But he only had eyes for Jim. The starlight played across his sleeping form, outlining his naked form in shadows and soft silver. He was without question the most beautiful thing that Spock had ever seen. And behind the ephemeral physical beauty lay a mind – a soul – even more extraordinary and perfect. And his. His to touch, and hold, and glory in its mere proximity. He reached a trembling hand and touched Jim’s cheek, felt the warmth of his skin, the tingle of his meld points, tantalisingly close.   

There was a way. To give Jim what he wanted. It was a path Spock had once thought he would walk. Ironically, it had been Jim himself who had prevented it. HIs acceptance, his affection, for who Spock was – human and Vulcan - with all his flaws. Jim had never seen his flaws, had never cared about them. Had been his Captain, his friend, had loved him, in spite of them. It was a gift he had never truly imagined he would have. One that would stay with him for all of his life.   

And there was a way to give Jim a gift. Give him his heart’s desire. One that would surely bring relief from this emotional maelstrom.   

Kolinahr.   

He had mentioned it to Jim, once, not long after his time, and their trip to Vulcan. Jim had listened, brown eyes warm on his, as he had explained the concept and purpose. Jim had always listened. After Spock had finished, they had sat in silence for a while, then Jim had said, gently, “Well, I can certainly see the appeal, it does sound very – Vulcan. Very logical. But –“ he had stopped. “Spock, may I speak freely?” Spock had nodded, surprised that he would even ask. Jim had said, with some feeling, “No, Spock, no. For you? I think it’s a terrible idea. You’re talking about changing a fundamental part of what makes you who you are. As your friend, do you think I’d ever sign off on that? When the person in front of me right now is already perfect?”  

He had not often thought of Kolinhar since. But things were different now. They were no longer simply friends. They were more than friends, more than brothers, more than lovers. They were t’hy’la. In every sense of the word. Friends could stand apart, could appear to be indifferent to each other. T’hy’la could not. All the discipline of the service would crumble the first time Jim was hurt, or in danger. He could not control the passionate need, the fierce possessiveness, the sheer overwhelming love for this man. He would do anything, give anything, to keep Jim safe. He was - dangerous. To Jim, and to the ship. There was only one way he could ever be what Jim truly needed. Be his first officer. Be one half of the best command team in the fleet. Steadfast. Reliable. Calm. Not overwrought. Not emotional. Not - a lover.  

There was a way: Kolinahr.

He should wake Jim. He should speak to him of this.   

No. That was selfish. He wished Jim to wake to hear his voice, to see his smile, feel the touch of his hand, see those brown eyes filled with affection. For him. Jim would not, could not understand. Jim was not Vulcan. He would seek to persuade him to stay. And he, in this weakness, in the grip of these emotions, would do so. He had never been able to deny Jim anything. Especially not now, not like this.  

And he did not wish to force a choice upon his love. Us, or the Enterprise. For that, he well knew, was no choice at all. Jim had given up his entire life, his only son, in pursuit of this dream. Next to that, what could a relationship of such short duration signify? 

And he could not remain at Jim’s side without this being between them always: this love, this passion.  

Unless he removed it altogether.  

He slipped from the bed, moved quietly around the room. It took less than ten minutes to dress, and secure all his belongings back in his bag.   

Leave. Walk away now.    

He turned back to the bed. Jim had shifted slightly, his hand outstretched to the place Spock had just vacated. Seeking his lover, even in sleep.   

He could not simply – walk away. He had to explain, had to –  he walked to the desk. There was, as there sometimes was in old fashioned hotels, a pen and paper on its pale surface. He wrote for a few minutes, then stopped, placed the pen down and stood again. This was too much. He could not. A fierce trembling had taken hold of him.   

Leave. Walk away now.    

He sat again, wrote more. His vision was becoming blurred. He needed to leave before the strength to do so failed him utterly.   

He signed the page, stood again. Walked to the door.   

Leave. Walk away now.   

He turned back. With all that he was, he wanted to stay. Drop his bag, run to the bed, and take Jim in his arms. Kiss him. Hold him. Love and be loved. He wanted it so badly it hurt.   

He stood for a moment, memorising the sight. Jim, untroubled in sleep, lying in a bed that Spock had only just vacated, reaching for his lover. Reaching for Spock. My Jim. The body that had desired him. The mind that had accepted him. The heart that had loved him. And the soul that had sung to him of home. Of completion. Of T’hy’la. His vision blurred, and Jim disappeared.   

He turned, and walked away.  

 *

 

End of Part One

 

Chapter 21: Epilogue

Summary:

Scenes set after the first five year mission, and before The Motion Picture.

Notes:

Hello, subscribers to First, Best Destiny! You probably weren't expecting an update to a finished fic. And that makes two of us, tbh, but these scenes don't fit after the time jump to the motion picture and it seemed a shame to lose them entirely, so here you go!

(I actually wondered whether to post this chapter on the grounds that this fic is, you know, quite long already and this is basically just author self indulgence at this point. Then I figured, if you've read all two hundred thousand-odd words, you're hardly likely to be thinking, "well, that four thousand word epilogue was really gilding the lily". 😂)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Vulcan (Terran Calendar:1st May 2270)

The house had changed very little.

The garden had expanded into its surroundings, and included more greenery, as well as more flowers from Earth. The internal irrigation system had obviously been improved. The facade was a little more worn, to be expected with the sandstorms that occasionally blew in from the desert.

He entered - the door responding to his presence, to his relief - and moved quickly up the plain but elegant staircase. His room – untouched since he had left for the Academy, on the orders of his mother, and in the face of his own and Sarek’s protestations on the subject of wasted space – was at the back, overlooking the garden, a position which made it somewhat cooler than the rest of house. This had proved an advantage when he had moved permanently to the colder environs of Earth.

His possessions from his years aboard the Enterprise had amounted to more than he had expected, and he was quietly grateful to his mother for preserving this space as somewhere he could store them. Personal possessions were forbidden for the adepts of kolinahr. It was possible that he would wish to be rid of them entirely after his time at Gol, but, for now, disposing of them had felt like a step too far, for reasons he did not wish to examine too closely.

He distributed his belongings efficiently around the space, and returned to his bag. Left alone in the bottom of the empty vessel was his formal robe – I've never seen you in anything I wanted to take off you so much - and next to it, a small, scruffy, now rather misshapen, box. He lifted this last with great care, and slid out the contents.

The Enterprise glowed, stately and serene in his hands. He was momentarily absorbed in the play of light on her smooth surface, so missed the delicate tread on the landing outside, and was unaware of the presence in the doorway until she said, gently, affectionately, “Hello Spock.”

He turned.

His mother was standing in the doorway, watching him with a fond smile. Before he could reply, she said, with interest, “Is that the Enterprise? It’s lovely.”

He looked down at the model in his hands, replaced the packaging, and laid it gently on his desk, before responding, “Yes. It is carved from dilithium. It is aesthetically pleasing when treated and carved in such a way.”

“It is indeed.” She crossed to him, and kissed his cheek lightly. “A gift?”

“Yes. I - I understood that you and father were to be at the embassy today.”

“He is.” She moved to the chair in front of his desk, and sat. “I stayed here. To see you.”

“You need not have done so.”

His mother gave a huff of disagreement. “I could hardly not, after your message. Spock, we thought you were staying on Earth – we thought –“

“My plans have changed.”

“Apparently. You are to travel to the temple at Gol. That much was clear in your message. Your father, incidentally, could not be prouder. No one in the family has ever attempted kolinahr before.” She gave him a conspiratorially affectionate look. “I imagine even now he is devising some logical reason to announce it to the entire embassy.” She drew a breath, and her expression sobered. “But what your message didn’t say, darling, was – why.”

He said, stiffly, “As you have already indicated. Such a path is highly thought of amongst our people.”

She raised a sceptical eyebrow. “When has that ever –“

“Father approves. A rarity in itself.”

“Spock –“

“Do you not support me in this?”

She gave him a stern look. “I told you many years ago that you would always have my support, whatever you chose to do with your life.”

He dropped his gaze.

She sighed. “Spock, you have never allowed concern for the good opinion of your people, or even your father, to sway your actions in the past. You will forgive me if I am somewhat sceptical that you would do so now.” She blinked up at him, her expression softening her words, but her eyes stayed serious. “Especially when you have spent so many years amongst humans.”

“What other reason would there be?”

She gave him a small, slightly sad smile. “That’s what I’ve been wondering.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “When I read your message, I couldn’t help but think - that your wish to do kolinahr might be a way to-“ she hesitated then carried on, “- to finally be rid of your human half. The genetic inheritance you never wanted.” Her voice shook slightly, “The part of you that is – me.” She looked away from him, down at her hands, trying consciously to stop their movement.

After a moment, as she gathered herself in the silence, he said quietly, “That is...not illogical. I have never given you any reason to suppose I valued my human heritage as highly as my Vulcan. Save one.” He crossed the room and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his, steadying their motion.

“When the choice was mine, I chose to live on Earth. Amongst your people. And mine. Against the advice of every Vulcan whose opinion I sought. Against my father’s express wish. Not only because I wished to join Starfleet, but because I wished to live amongst my mother’s people. To live amongst people - like my mother.” He gave her a small, but unmistakable, smile. “I have since learned that that wish was - naive. You are truly exceptional. I have only met a handful of humans as outstanding as you. And only one whose kindness, bravery, and adventurous spirit rivals yours.”

Amanda was staring at him in stunned silence, her eyes wide, and bright with unshed tears.

“I seek kolinahr to allow me to control the passions of my Vulcan heritage. Were I fully human, this would not be necessary.”

She swallowed. Her son had never spoken to her like this before, and she wanted to let the moment linger. Instead, she said squeezed his hands, said, “But – but I still don’t understand – what must you control?”

He withdrew his hands, and sat back. She smothered a breath of disappointment as his softened expression disappeared behind a Vulcan mask.

After a long moment, he spoke without meeting her gaze, and his voice, to her human hearing, was almost inaudible. “I am - in love with James Kirk.”

His mother drew a sharp breath, but when she spoke it was gentle, and entirely unsurprised. “Oh Spock.”

He continued. “But given our relative positions in Starfleet, there can be no personal relationship between us. To preserve our professional relationship on the next five year mission, we must be – simply colleagues. Perhaps friends. No more. But with Vulcan drives as they are, that – obviously - cannot be.”

His mother said carefully, “Spock, does Jim – does he - return your feelings?”

Her son kept his face averted and his voice was almost painfully raw as he said, “He does.”

“Oh, my darling.” She was visibly restraining herself from reaching for him. “And he is supportive of - this? Of kolinahr?”

“It is the most logical course of action.”

“Is it? Spock, it is irreparable, you can’t simply –“

“I am aware.”

“Surely, if he loves you –“

“He loves the Enterprise. And he wishes me to serve with him again.”

“I’ve no doubt he does, but he can’t ask you to – “something in his expression stopped her. “Does he – Spock, does he know what you intend?”

In the silence that followed, a breeze buffeted the trees in the garden, then went quiet.

Amanda watched shifting expressions cross her son’s gaze and swallowed her own distress, waiting for him to speak. When he did, he did not answer her question.

“Illogical as it may be, I am proud to be my father’s son, and of my Vulcan ancestry. But without you, I would never have joined Starfleet, never boarded the Enterprise, and never found the greatest joy of my life.

“I would not be who I am without both of you, and I would never have known love, without you.”

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, gently, reverently, as she had his. “Goodbye, mother.”

Amanda sat, unmoving, as he rose, crossed the room. After a moment longer she heard the unmistakable swish of the door closing. Only then did she allow the tears to fall.

*

Temple of Mount Seleya, Vulcan

T’Sha’al lowered herself gratefully onto her small bed and breathed deeply, consciously relaxing her muscles and letting her mind drift as she allowed her usually excellent mental discipline to naturally slip. There was no danger in doing so, so far from the other temple residents, all of whom were currently – and unusually in these times – Vulcan. Even T’Rena was off-world. As she would no doubt be with increasing frequency now Leonard McCoy was again resident on Earth. She allowed herself a small smile at the thought of her sisters increasingly unconvincing attempts to feign indifference to the thought of seeing Earth.

There was no doubt that she would miss her sister. They had never been apart for any length of time before she met McCoy. But nevertheless, T’Sha’al delighted in her happiness. She would never marry herself – and had no desire to – but T’Rena was, and always had been, very different.

She almost jumped, then sighed aloud, as the console in her room signalled an incoming transmission. It was not T’Rena, so she was almost tempted to ignore it, but the list of people who could contact her private terminal was short, and none of them were likely to do so without a good reason.

She rose reluctantly, crossed to the terminal, and accepted the call.

“This is T’Sha’al.”

“Healer T’Sha’al. I apologise for disturbing your rest.”

T’Sha’al made a conscious effort not to allow displeased surprise to show on her face.

It was not that she disliked the caller. On the contrary, she had a great deal of professional and personal respect for High Master T’sai, leader of the initiates of Gol, but the chances of this being a call that would not involve work had just reduced to zero.

She said politely, “It is always an honour to assist the initiates of Gol, High Master T’sai.”

“Thank you. I require your opinion upon a new initiate. He will take the rites of the kolinahri tomorrow, but my healers inform me that, although he is not bonded, there is unusual activity in his bonding centre for which they cannot account.”

In spite of her tiredness, T’Sha’al’s professional interest was piqued. “Indeed?”

“Yes. Your name appears on the record as the last healer with whom he melded. Hence, I am seeking your insight.”

“Of course. Of whom do we speak?”

“S’chn T’gai Spock.”

It would occur to T’Sha’al later that she had failed to keep the surprise off her face at the second time of asking. She said, “He seeks kolinahr?”

“As I have indicated.” If T’sai was unimpressed at having to repeat herself, it didn’t show in her voice. “This surprises you.”

“Yes, it does.” She hesitated for only a moment. If Spock sought to become an initiate of Gol, he could have no secrets from T’sai. “He has a t’hy’la.”

There had been very few times in her life when T’Sha’al regretted her lack of sight. She had always felt there was a kind of universal balance with her considerable mental abilities. But she genuinely regretted not being able to see T’sai’s face in the ensuing silence.

“A living t’hy’la?”

“A living, human t’hy’la.”

There was another long silence. Then T’sai said carefully, “You are – quite certain?” Her tone suggested she was aware of the insult implied in questioning another healer's judgement, but T’Sha’al was not offended.

She said, “I am aware that such a thing is unprecedented in our history but, yes. I am quite certain.”

There was a creak, and another long pause. T’Sha’al imagined T’sai had just sat back in her chair. It was moments like this that she felt the absence of T’Rena’s sight keenly. She waited.

Eventually, T’sai spoke. “Even so. In your estimation, Healer T’Sha’al, is he a suitable candidate for kolinahr?”

T’Sha’al hesitated. The existence of unrealised bonds did not prevent the attainment of kolinahr. Spock had an excellent, and most disciplined mind. He would not undertake such a course lightly, and she had no professional reason to gainsay his decision.

She said, reluctantly, “He is.”

*

San Francisco, Earth

Leonard McCoy patted the bulge in his pocket for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. Their evening had gone extremely well, and if T’Rena had noticed that he was slightly on edge, she was polite enough not to mention it, carrying the bulk of their conversation, and complimenting him on each course.

McCoy was well aware that he was growing increasingly nervous as the time ticked towards the end of their meal, and nerves were not conducive to eloquence and romance, so the sooner he did this, the better it would go. T’Rena had left the table briefly, so when she returned, almost before she had regained her seat, he said firmly, “T’Rena.”

She blinked at his tone. “Yes, Leonard?”

He made a conscious effort to soften his voice, which led to a natural thickening of his accent. She had deemed his southern drawl, on more than one occasion, to be ‘unusually aurally appealing’, which he had assumed was Vulcan for ‘I think your voice is sexy,’ and certainly subsequent events had borne that out. He blinked, to dismiss that train of thought. Later.

“Darlin’, I was wonderin’-” She almost smiled, then caught herself in time, whether at his accent or endearment, it was hard to tell, but her eyes smiled all the same.

She’s beautiful. What the hell am I doing?

When his sentence didn’t conclude, she said again, encouragingly, “Yes, Leonard?”

“See, erm, I’ve been thinking. We’ve been together for a couple of years now -”

“Two years, seven months, three days as counted by the Terran calendar.”

“Yes.”

“As reckoned from our reconciliation aboard the Enterprise.”

“Oh, right.”

“Not our first meeting.”

“No, okay.”

“Because that would be three years -”

“Let’s just say two years and change.”

She frowned slightly at the imprecision. “Very well.”

“And er, well, I feel like, it’s been going – pretty well. On the whole.”

She nodded. “I would concur. We have discovered a great number of areas of mutual compatibility.”

He smiled with relief. “Exactly.”

“Most recently, our increased physical intimacy has been highly gratifying. You have a most delicate touch. I believe this to be due to your extensive surgical training.”

McCoy blinked. He felt his cheeks begin to heat slightly. If he lived to be two hundred, he would never accustom himself to her matter of fact insertion of intimate details into everyday conversation. He wondered if she knew the effect it had on him.

She looked at him from across the table, her Vulcan neutrality perfectly in place, and raised her glass. Her dark eyes teased him from over the rim.

He couldn’t believe he’d once found Vulcan neutrality irritating. She knows alright. God, I love her. Maybe we could – no. Later.

“T’Rena.”

She set down her glass. “Leonard you appear to be somewhat – anxious. If it will ease your anxiety, I believe I have anticipated your request, and made appropriate arrangements.”

He blinked. “You’ve made – what?”

She smiled then, small, but proud, and he couldn’t help but smile back. He both loved, and slightly dreaded, that look. It meant that she had applied Vulcan logic to a human behaviour she found typically illogical in order to anticipate his actions or wishes. Results had been – to put it mildly – mixed, but when she was right, she was usually so spectacularly right that it made all the failures worthwhile. Their last episode of physical intimacy being one such example. His smile widened at the memory and he leaned back in his chair, felt himself relax for the first time that evening.

“Alright darlin’, what am I up to?”

“I have observed,” she began, in the manner of someone about to deliver a lecture on human behaviour to an audience of Vulcan children, and he had to lift his glass to hide his smile. “That humans, and you in particular, attach importance to events and dates, outwith those that are traditionally regarded as important in many cultures. Such as religious observances, and the anniversary of one’s birth.”

“True.”

She nodded. “You have mentioned to me in the past that such a day is the anniversary of the day we met, such a day is the anniversary of the day we first kissed, the day we first engaged in physical intimacy, and so forth. It is – very human of you to observe such things.” She added quickly. “And endearing. Of course.

“In one month’s time, the xenobiological conference which constituted our first trip away together, and our first kiss, is taking place on the same starbase. I anticipated that you would wish to return, not only to engage in further amorous encounters, but also to facilitate professional development. I have arranged for us both to attend.”

She smiled again, with an air of triumph, which faltered slightly at his face. “Have I behaved – incorrectly?”

He sat forward quickly. “No, not at all. I think it’s a wonderful idea.” He lifted her hand from the table and kissed it lightly, eliciting that subtle glow he’d never tire of seeing. “Of course, we’ll go. It’ll be fun.”

“But - it is not what you wished to speak of?”

“No, love.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed that this particular attempt to predict human illogic had been a failure, but rallied quickly. “Then what did you wish to speak of?”

He gripped the small box in his pocket and took a breath. The nerves had returned.

“T’Rena. I wanted to ask if you would – if you would do me the honour -” he produced the small box, pushed it across the table towards her, and she reached for it with wide eyed curiosity.

He had given this a great deal of thought. There was a lot of Vulcan tradition around wedding ceremonies, and such like, but nothing generally accepted about the manner of proposal. So, given her predisposition for, and interest in, all things human, he had decided to do this the human way, and leave her to choose how – and where - she would like the ceremony. Assuming, of course, they actually made it that far.

He continued, “the very great honour, of becoming my -”

The chime of the computer buzzed through the room, and he jumped. They both turned to regard the console, her with sudden concern, and him with a look that would have burned through a lesser material.

He turned back to her. “Just ignore it.”

She gave a small sigh, and looked to him apologetically. “It is T’Sha’al.”

Leonard McCoy was fond of T’Rena’s older sister, in spite of a permanent feeling of talking to the headmistress of a particularly strict school that she generally invoked, and he was medically proprietal about her ongoing well-being. But at this particular moment, he found it hard to imagine anyone he would like to speak to less.

Through slightly gritted teeth, he said, “I – er, guess you’d better answer it then.”

Still holding the box, she crossed to the console, and sat, activating the screen.

Her sister’s face appeared, and she said, without preamble, “I apologise for disturbing your evening, ko-kai”

T’Rena said politely, “You would not have called without good reason, T’Sha’al.”

“Is Doctor McCoy with you?”

“Yes, of course.”

McCoy rose, and crossed to the screen. “I’m here, Ma’am.”

“Forgive my intrusion, but I wished to enquire, before matters become irrevocable, if you were aware that S’chn T’gai Spock intends to become an initiate of Gol.”

T’Rena said, with surprise, “He will undertake to achieve kolinahr? When?”

“He is here now. The initiation ceremony is tomorrow. He is a last minute addition. As usual, none will refuse T’Pau.”

McCoy looked from one to the other. “Hold on. Back up please. Where’s Gol? Are you saying Spock’s on Vulcan? He can’t be on Vulcan, he's here. With Jim. Less than three miles from here, in fact.”

T’Sha’al said flatly, “He is not, he is on Vulcan. And as of tomorrow morning, he will be one of the kolinahri and forbidden contact with the outside world. I am unaware of anyone with a t'hy’la bond seeking kolinahr, and I wished to ascertain that this course of action is fully considered.”

“What’s kolinahr?”

T’Rena said, “It is the purging of emotions. The move beyond the ego.”

McCoy stared. “How do you purge emotions – why would you want to -?” He broke off, and turned to T’Sha’al. “Pre-existing bond. You mean, this soulmate thing he has with Jim.”

“The t’hy’la bond. Yes. It is unrealised, but even so -” she stopped. “It is highly unusual. I am not aware of anyone with such a bond attempting kolinahr. Strictly speaking, there is no reason why he should not – “

McCoy was muttering, “Something’s happened. Purging of emotions. God, of all the stupid, pig-headed -” he broke off. “I need to find Jim. That green-blooded, walking computer -”

T’Rena looked at him wide-eyed, and he winced. “Sorry, love. Sorry, T’Sha’al.” He looked at T’Rena, apology in his eyes. “I need to find Jim.”

On screen, T’Sha’al nodded. T’Rena sighed. “Of course.”

“Whatever’s happened, it can’t be good. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

She nodded. As he reached the door, she said, “Leonard?”

As he turned she held up the box. Inside his mother’s antique engagement ring caught the light and glowed.

“Yes.”

He looked from her face, to the ring, then back to her face. He crossed the room, seized her face in his hands, and kissed her. On the screen, T’Sha’al’s face was a study in manufactured obliviousness.

They broke apart. “Really?”

She glowed at him. “Of course.”

“Wonderful.” His eyes were moist. “Oh darlin', that’s – that’s wonderful.”

“Leonard?”

“Yes, love?”

“Jim.”

“Oh. Yes. I’ll be back. I – I love you.”

She smiled at him all the way out of the door. As it closed behind him, he heard T'Sha'al say innocently, "Is there something you wish to tell me, pi'ko'kai?"

*

Notes:

So I thought I'd leave it there, you know, nothing more to see here.

Lol. Yeah, right.

I'm off to post chapter one of part two. Hopefully, I'll see you there! xxx

Series this work belongs to: