Strength of Men

by 1lostone

Summary:

While a deadly disease incapacitates the Enterprise, an old enemy of Jim's forces him to remember his time on Tarsus IV. Spock finds Kirk's pain unacceptable.

 Edit: now with fewer typos... er, ten years later. 😒😊

Notes:

My first Trek fic, posted originally in 2010. Please note the tags and all the warnings. (Please subscribe to me or this fic for updates, or follow me on tumblr or Twitter !💖)

Chapter 1

Thanks as always to  yesterday_girl   and ladyblahblah  for letting me ask them the most random of questions and being damn awesome.

 

Also, in the middle of the fic  avictoriangirl  made me this

 

:D

 

 

 

Stardate:  2259.52

“Bah dum … da dum… da dum-de-dah-dum…..”

The syllables were rough. Dry, like sandpaper that had been left outside for far too long and could easily crumble to dust.  They weren’t the only sounds in the hollow chamber. Occasionally there was a whimper or moan of agony to liven up the chorus. Faintly in the background, a computerized voice could be heard counting repetitively, the alien syllables steady and monotonous.

“The mon…key… chased… “ 

Indeed, the man making those sounds was beyond realizing the repetitive song- that he was repeating the same syllables over and over, like an old Earth record that was stuck and skipping.  The words were the barest breath, his strained and ravaged vocal cords unable to produce much beyond the slightest whisper. 

“ The weeeea-sel.”

It was a silly song that he remembered his mother teaching him to play on the small piano that sat in the living area of his boyhood home.   As a boy, he had had absolutely no discernible musical talent, but he did vividly remember the smell of his mother’s perfume as she sat with him, patiently showing him the keys to press, her warm hand on the center of his back, the feel of her hug when he managed to play the childish song without stopping or with too many mistakes.  It was one of the few times that he remembered sitting still.

“Bah dum … da dum…”

What would it do to her, when they informed her that her youngest son, following the long-standing tradition of both his older brother and father, had died while on a mission for Starfleet?

But his brain didn’t like that thought and shied away from it like a skittish animal.

He had no idea how long he had been hanging here… hanging around. Hanging. Huh.  The thought made his broken lips smile. He felt a trickle of blood escape from the corner of his mouth and licked at it instinctively. He was so thirsty. The small wetness didn’t help at all, only caused his mouth to feel even drier and swollen as the bright copper taste hit his taste buds.  

He wiggled his left wrist by accident but didn’t have the strength to wince when pain ricocheted around his already abused body as the shattered bones rubbed against each other.  The blood pooling from the horribly swollen appendage caused the skin to throb against the chain that held him immobile.  It didn’t matter. The pain would pass eventually, the horrible thirst would dissipate. He would die here, broken and alone.

“Bah dum … da dum… da dum-de-dah-du…..”

God, he was thirsty.

***

Stardate:  2259.52.5

When the small ship had first shown up on the Enterprise scanners, Acting Captain Spock’s fingers had tightened so much on the armrests of the Captain’s chair that the metal gave a subtle groan of protest at its treatment.  The fierce fury that the sight of the vessel produced was completely illogical. But undeniable. “Red Alert.”   The klaxon and the flashing red lights seemed to somehow enhance the moment, making it seem even more intense.

This was the ship that had attacked them. Stolen their Captain. “Ensign. Report.”

“Aye. Keptin.”  Chekov quickly punched some numbers into the console.

Spock had to force himself to speak calmly as the young man worked. “Helmsman? How long until intercept?”

“Four-point six minutes. Captain.”

Chekov spoke, his untrained voice showing his frustration with the information he had to share. “Keptin. Long-range scanners show that the wessel is in orbit around the planet, but some sort of electronic disturbance is interfering with in-depth scanning information. “

“--Captain. I am receiving no signals from either the ship or the planet. The interference seems to be disrupting communications as well.” The man speaking from the communications station also had nuances of emotion in his voice as he spoke.  Spock could detect adrenaline and a faint tinge of panic.

“Take us out of warp, Helmsman Mathos.”  Spock was not about to trust the occupants of that vessel again. They had long-range weapon capability. It was illogical to assume that because the Enterprise’s sensors were compromised that the vessel’s own sensors were as well.

“Yes sir.” The engines purred briefly as they slowed down.  Spock was up and standing over the Ensign at the science station, fingers itching to pull up the information he required. “Ensign, scan the planet’s surface for life signs.”

“A-aye. Sir!”  Spock wondered for a moment why the man’s speaking voice sounded higher than usual and acknowledged that perhaps he was standing a little too close to the shorter Human.  Spock knew that his presence still intimidated the crew of the Enterprise. Normally he would not have catered to such human insecurity, but he needed this information the Ensign could provide, so he stepped back.

 The turbolift’s doors swooshed open “Damnit, why are we stopped? What are you people…?” the Chief Medical Officer’s voice trailed off as he saw the enemy ship on the Enterprise’s view screen.  Spock watched as the other man’s fists clenched. His complexion became very colorful. Spock recognized that this was a very tell-tale sign that McCoy was about to completely lose his temper.

Spock could now see the electronic disturbance.  It could be a storm trapped in the planet’s atmosphere. He was not sure.  Whatever it was, it was an obstacle keeping him from scanning the ship ahead of them. He could hear the doctor’s heavy breathing as he glared at the ship. McCoy was obviously exhausted.  

As were they all.

Spock knew the human had come up from sickbay once they had dropped out of warp, as he had a habit of doing. That habit was surely what was driving him now as he looked over at Spock.  The doctor’s eyes narrowed even further.

Acting Captain Spock, Ensign Chekov, Chief Engineer Scott, and were the only crewmembers assigned to the bridge that hadn’t been struck by the disease that had ravaged the ship after Captain Kirk was taken. It had been quite fortunate that the Chief Medical Officer had not been victim to the disease. Their replacements were ill. The people that staffed the bridge of the Enterprise now were not who Spock would have chosen to complete a find and recover mission, yet here they were. Logically, he knew that in the year since Captain Kirk had taken over, the crew had been tested and retested to perform at their absolute best.  Many had now worked double shifts as their crewmates were struck down by the strange disease.  They were good at what they did, yet he still wished for Mr. Sulu’s quick reflexes and Uhura’s unmatched xenolinguistics skill.

The disease had struck them hard. McCoy had watched helplessly as the first few patients died in front of him. It had taken him two entire days to isolate the symptoms enough to slow the death process in order to find a cure. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the disease, and McCoy still hadn’t been able to isolate the cause.

Nor could Spock explain how the Captain had disappeared off of the ship with no evidence of transporter use.  One minute the vessel was alongside the Enterprise, and in the next moment, unidentified microbes had been beamed into the ship’s ventilators.  In the chaos of that discovery, they had discovered that Kirk was missing.

It had been a rough ten days, to say the least.  Spock and McCoy had taken to discussing matters in Captain Kirk’s ready room so that the skeleton crew was not unduly influenced by the conversation. 

“Ensign Chekov, Ensign Kelly, report your findings to me. I will be in the Captain’s ready room.”

 “Yessir.”

“Aye, Keptin.”

Spock’s eyebrow rose as he followed McCoy to the sparsely furnished room.

It was no surprise to him that almost as soon as the room’s doors swished shut, McCoy had his tricorder out and was taking readings of his physiology.

“Still no symptoms? No... No… I can see. Adrenaline spike. Exhaustion. Expected.”

Spock could clearly make out the muttered words and submitted to the quick readings without comment. While he still found most human emotion completely illogical, he understood that the CMO needed to reassure himself- to feel as though he was accomplishing some small thing. The readings were correct; Spock truly was exhausted. Vulcans required very little sleep to maintain day-to-day activities, but Spock had been unable to sleep at all while performing his duties as Acting Captain. When he wasn’t technically on duty, he had been in the bio lab, assisting McCoy with isolating the researchable aspects of the disease.  With precisely 76.8 percent of the crew affected by or deceased from the disease, McCoy had not had enough staff to care for the sick and do all the research himself.

It was a dissatisfying situation.

Spock desperately wanted to meditate. Needed to. Needed to get these uncomfortable emotions under better control. He knew this, understood this to be the most logical course of action, but he had simply not been able to find the time.

“Doctor.”

McCoy looked up, glaring at him.

Before he could speak, however, Chekov’s excited voice could be heard over the communications.

“Keptain! Keptain!!” Spock had whirled on his heel and was walking out of the ready room towards the young Ensign almost before the man had spoken the last syllable, McCoy right behind him.

“Report.”

“The electrical anomaly is not just a storm. It is engineered, as sort of a jamming dewice!”  His fingers were flying over the console as he muttered under his breath. “Scanning, sir.”

Spock found himself tapping his finger against the leg of his uniform and stopped immediately, appalled at his own actions.

There was a gasp from the station. “Keptin, I am picking up Captain Kirk’s signal! It is wery faint. And… readings, sir. Faint life form readings from the wessel.  Not sure if human or not. But humanoid.”

Spock spun on his heel. “Spock to Scott. Meet me in the Transporter Room A. Lieutenant Jasper, assemble an away team.” He was already walking towards the lift. 

“Aye, Captain.”

“Acknowledged, sir.”

There was a tense silence as the turbo lift hummed on its way to the proper deck.  The doors swished open and Spock stalked through. He stopped McCoy from striding to the transporter pads by angling his body in front of the other man’s, but McCoy was so intent on his destination that he walked right into him. The flurry of emotions he picked up from the contact was brief but extremely unwelcome. Fury. Worry. Heartache. Feelings of being superfluous.  Spock raised an eyebrow and stepped back.

“You will not be accompanying us.”

“The hell I won’t!”

“Your duty is to the crewmembers on this ship. You cannot be spared at this time given the negligible likelihood of your staff to find an inoculation to this sickness without you present.”

McCoy sputtered, so furious that he couldn’t actually respond with words.

It was fortuitous; Spock thought, that the others showed up before McCoy could resort to physical violence. Their time working so closely together had not improved their relationship.

At all.

“Two teams.  I require one of you to beam down to the enemy vessel with me.” He looked at Lieutenant Jasper who nodded once, gesturing to one of his subordinates who came to stand by Spock.  “Lieutenant Scott, you have the con.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“You better bring him back; you damn… pointy-eared…” McCoy broke off, turning sharply on his heel, muttering obscenities under his breath, all of which Spock could clearly distinguish.

“Lieutenant Scott, energize.”

Spock braced himself and waited for the feeling of the transporter to start scrambling molecules, but it never came.

“Energize, Mr. Scott.” Spock’s voice dropped a degree or two.

“I… can’t sir. There is someth…”

Scott was interrupted by the beep of a communicator. “Keptin! The electronic interference is back.  We’ve lost our signals from the planet.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

***

Stardate:  2259.54.6

Two days later found the Enterprise in slightly better shape. McCoy found himself staring out of the window in his office, looking down at the planet. He had indeed made an inoculation against the spread of the disease, which the crew members had taken to calling Blackneck. They knew that it was much like Terran influenza, but had caused the patients to spike such a high fever that its victims were delirious within hours. Spreading through the respiration system, it had been quite difficult to contain. The virus had caused the neck to swell and patches of skin to start flaking off. The remaining skin tissue would turn dark blue or black until it looked as though the victim had some sort of orchestrated contusions. The bacteria on the skin would result in entire layers of flesh withering away. McCoy was heard to mutter that it was like the ancient Earth plagues and leprosy with a touch of Ornaran plague and lungworm thrown in for kicks. It constantly shifted, mutating itself so that finding a cure was difficult. McCoy had managed to stop the mutation and the spread and was working on administering relief to the individual symptoms.  Crew quarters had become emergency quarantines.

McCoy took a sip of whiskey, savoring the burn as it hit his stomach. He had no intention of getting drunk. Damnit. But he had prescribed himself a short break before he fell on his face.  Slowly but surely, things were looking better. Sulu and Uhura had been returned to duty, and that had helped both him and the green-blooded bastard to get some much-needed rest. Actually, McCoy had wanted them to remain in sickbay for observation since both had flaking skin and fading black contusions, but they had both insisted that they would be fine for active duty.

Uhura and Sulu, along with Chekov and Scott, had pretty much taken over the entire day-to-day duties of running the ship. McCoy had prescribed Spock a period of rest but had no way of knowing whether the pointy-eared hobgoblin had followed his medical advice or not.  McCoy had slept for seven hours straight, until his staff had awoken him, needing his expertise.  

Chekov had been monitoring the interference from the planet. He had been so focused on finding every single scrap of information that McCoy had pretty much had to force the kid into taking a break to sleep.  Even then he had suspicions that he was somehow still monitoring from his quarters. Chekov and Spock had both worked seamlessly and McCoy had been hard-pressed not to make any Caped Crusader and Boy Wonder jokes.  Well, out loud anyway. He smirked into his glass and took another sip.   

The two had discovered that the cycle of interference gave them exactly a 6.4-minute window of non-interference every twenty-four hours. They had been unprepared for yesterday’s window, not knowing when exactly it cycled through. McCoy had still not been cleared to go, but operating on the assumption that the window would be opening in another- he checked the chronometer- hour and twenty minutes, Spock had ordered everyone necessary to report to the transporter room ten minutes before the actual window began.

McCoy and Spock had conferred again (their “conference” in the ready room had resulted in McCoy yelling and waving his hands around, and several repetitions of the word ‘illogical’) and were operating on the tentative assumption that Jim was on the planet, and two unidentified humanoids were on the ship. The sensors had confirmed Jim’s recorder signature planetside, so McCoy was reasonably certain they were on the right track. . Reasonably. Okay, partially. Somewhat. Damnit, he was a doctor, not a sensor specialist. He took another swig of his drink and sighed, standing and getting ready to prepare sickbay for his friend and the two poor bastards that were stuck on the ship. 

Spock had insisted that he be the one to beam down to the alien vessel. ‘It is only logical, as I have not contracted the disease that has incapacitated the Enterprise. The member of security who is beaming down with me is also immune. We have the advantage of being prepared and aware in this instance. I do not anticipate any problems, Doctor.’

Prissy, tricorder-up-the-ass bastard.

McCoy busied himself with his patients in Sickbay, one eye on his patients, the other on the chronometer as it steadfastly kept time.

***

Spock had spent several hours in deep meditation, trying to eradicate his maelstrom of useless emotions. It had worked up to a point, and the additional three hours of sleep had done wonders to sharpen and focus his thoughts.

He had gone over the plan with the security officer and the two medical crew Dr. McCoy had insisted be added to the away team. The planetside team had a very simple mission: they would be beamed to the Captain’s coordinates, and beamed back as soon as they had ascertained that the Captain was safe to be moved. Starfleet regulations prohibited them from simply locking on the Captain’s location and beaming him directly to the ship in order to be certain of exactly whom they were beaming up. It wouldn’t do to inadvertently violate the Prime Directive when a simple visual confirmation would suffice.

This was an illogical regulation. If a member of Starfleet had been kidnapped, Spock privately believed that he or she should be recovered without taking the extra step to beam down to a possibly—probably—hostile planet.  McCoy had also insisted that everyone wear protective suits that supplied clean air, eliminating the issue of picking up possible planetary contamination.

Spock had a slightly different mission. He had tasked himself with finding answers- answers that only a thorough examination of the hostile spacecraft could provide. Who were these people? What motivated them to attack members of Starfleet with such a hostile act?

He had no answers at this time.

The doors to the transporter room opened with a small swish and Spock entered, pleased to see that everyone was ready and waiting.  To save time, Mr. Scott was planning on beaming both teams within seconds of each other, and Spock was satisfied to note that the planetside away team was already ready and waiting. Spock nodded at the ensign, who handed him his phaser and tricorder. He attached the tricorder securely to his uniform and held the phaser loosely in his left hand.  Mr. Scott had explicit instructions to beam up all members of the team, regardless of what they found, before the window closed again.

“Alright, laddies. Prepare to transport.” Mr. Scott nodded to Spock and the security officer who stepped into place, ready to stand on the transporter pads as soon as it was safe to do so. Spock anticipated that it would take only a few seconds for Scott to beam them to the ship, but with such a short window of opportunity, it was vital that they be ready.

“Energize.”

As soon as the five people disappeared, Spock moved into place. He nodded at Scott, who responded with a curt, “Energize!”

Spock felt the molecules do the odd pushpull that signified the use of a transporter beam, saw the blinding white light as he was being sent away.  Before he faded completely he could make out a panicked, “Sir! Kirk isn’t…!” before he disappeared.

Several things happened at once in the nanosecond before he reappeared on the alien ship. That one brief warning…. Kirk isn’t… had tensed Spock into movement, and from movement into action.

That action saved his life.

There was a flash of red and Spock was diving almost before he had rematerialized, his quicker-than-human reflexes throwing him down, and over.  There was a scream beside him as the security officer was hit by the beam of light, the piercing his acute hearing as the high-pitched sound filled the room. Spock saw the man’s flesh start to burn away; he flipped and turned so that he landed in a crouch, eyes assessing the situation.  There was no one there. Whatever had attacked the unfortunate Human must have been set as a trap.

Spock moved cautiously towards the fallen man, Most of his legs and the lower part of his torso had been burnt away.  Spock became aware of the computerized voice doing some sort of countdown, and he made his way quickly through the doors.  The readings had spoken of two humanoid life forms, and Spock had a horrible suspicion that one of them was his Captain.  The planetside security officer’s panicked, ‘Sir! Kirk isn’t….’ caused Spock’s brain to whirl with possibilities.

Spock vaguely recognized the language the mechanized voice was speaking. While he couldn’t be certain without proper study, it seemed as though the Cardassian voice was performing a simple countdown. The flashing red lights made it very clear that the ship had been set to self-destruct. He hurried to the next room and began searching for life forms. He did a quick calculation of the number the computerized voice spoke against the time left within the window of opportunity and realized that ship had been set to self-destruct at exactly three seconds before any away team would be able to beam out.  He tapped his communicator, unsurprised when it gave a flat-sounding sound.  He could not communicate with the Enterprise. Spock frowned minutely. He did not have time to find and disengage whatever was jamming the communication frequencies.  

The tricorder beeped at him, showing that one of the lifeforms was still tenaciously clinging to life. The readings were extremely faint. He couldn’t read a heartbeat or any specific information from this distance, but Spock knew that someone was on board. There was no sign of the other lifeform the Enterprise’s readings had confirmed was here.

He had approximately 5.23 minutes. Spock ran.

There were several metal staircases. He was headed for the belly of the ship- perhaps some kind of cargo hold. It took longer than he had anticipated, following the tricorder readings.  

 Four minutes.

He passed what looked like an eating area, barracks, and some kind of medical lab. His quick gaze inside caused his heart to start pounding and he skidded to a halt, his regulation boots slipping a little on the tacky blood that had been spattered everywhere.  The yellow Starfleet uniform had been ripped to shreds. Spock blinked. The iron tang of blood hung rank in the room, along with the smell of darker things.  Someone had bled out on the medical table. They had been chained down, spread-eagled.

He was very aware of his heartbeat. Each thud seemed to counterpoint the placid self-destruct countdown. It was illogical to stand there, staring at the dead man, but Spock literally couldn’t make his foot move forward. All he could hear was his blood rushing through his body, echoed by the too-fast thudding of his heart.  It took an inordinate amount of time for him to take a step forward. And another. The man’s face was turned away from him. Spock reached out, and with surprising gentleness turned the man’s neck so that he could see the features. 

His skin was still warm. Spock’s sensitive fingers could feel the fading heat from the man’s skin.  He could see the man’s features frozen forever in a grotesque mask of abject fear. He didn’t recognize the face.

It wasn’t him.

Time seemed to rush back all at once.  

Two minutes!

Spock whirled, clutching the tricorder.  He ran again, lithe body pounding on the metal planks of the staircases, each step jingling in a strange staccato accompaniment to the steady voice counting down to his death. 

He entered the large cargo hold with a feeling of gratitude. It had taken him longer than he had calculated to go through the ship. There was a soft beep from the handheld instrument, and Spock skidded to a halt again in front of a large, heavy metal door that separated the cargo hold from a smaller area, likely used for more precious cargo.

The door clanged as he applied his strength. There was a horrible screeching sound as metal scraped against metal, and Spock got his first glimpse of what was inside.

Once, while he was teaching at the Academy, Uhura had brought Spock a twentieth-century Terran device, used to capture images one found captivating. Delighted with his complete curiosity about the object, Uhura had gleefully informed him that when loaded with film; pressing the button let you record a still photograph of basically anything.  Spock had held the small device up to his eye, pushing the button. The camera had been empty, but still made a sharp clicking sound each time he depressed the small button.

He thought of that camera now as each image solidified into reality.

His Captain. Blood-stained metal cuffs held his wrists, secured to two thick metal chains connected to each wall. 

His body- mottled shades of purple, blue, green, and red… so much red… mixed together as though a particularly petulant child had tried to combine vivid paint. A kaleidoscope of agony.

One eye, peeking through the swollen flesh of a broken eye socket, lids distended and disfigured. It widened a little. Fear.

He had thirty seconds.

The thought spurred him to action. He could not release the captain in time before he was beamed up to the Enterprise.  Leaving this ship without the captain was not an option. He whirled and ran for the small control console near the airlock. The red of the flashing alarm flashed in his eyes as his fingers flew over the controls.

Fifteen seconds.

Spock moved faster, searching for a way around the self-destruct sequence.

Ten.

He had seven of the eight placeholders.

Four.

There was a beep, an answering pip-pip, and the alarm shut off. Spock was already ripping the location device from his clothes, flinging it towards the cargo bay doors. He watched as it dematerialized, as Mr. Scott attempted to beam Spock back to his own ship. The sudden silence was deafening.

A broken moan caused Spock to practically leap forward. The chains were strong, thickly forged to keep their victim immobile. It took Spock two minutes to remove the left one.

Kirk cried out as the atrophied muscles in his back, shoulders, and arms were forced to move. Spock was as gentle as he could be but knew that the muscles, exhausted from overuse and strain, would hurt as blood began to flow back through the tissue.

He became aware of a cracked litany of pleas spilling from his captain’s lips, pleas for him to stop, to leave him alone.

“Captain. Rest, sir. You are... not yourself. You will be free in a moment.”

Spock felt the utter shock in the body he held against his own, trying to support the Captain’s weight and release the other cuff at the same time.

The faint whisper of his name, unbelieving. Torn and bloody lips moved again, more strongly. “Spock?” as though he didn’t dare trust the answer.

Spock remembered at once that he was wearing the biosuit. He quickly ascertained that the captain showed no signs of the disease- it must not have permeated the current vessel- and removed the outermost layer of clothing, that which had hidden his face from his Captain.

“Yes. Now, Captain, using your remaining strength to speak is an illogical use of energy. You will cease while I finish releasing you from these restraints.”

Spock didn’t imagine the slight twitch of lips. Kirk’s weight against him increased as the other man lost consciousness completely.

 

_______________________________________________

Spock braced Kirk against his hip and put both of his hands on either side of the cuff, pulling it off and flinging it away.  He stood there for a moment with his head cocked to the side as he quickly decided the best course of action.  There were three beds in the medical room. One had been… occupied, but the other two held no evidence of foul play. 

He shifted his grip, stomach rolling as he felt the broken bones shift under Kirk’s skin. Humans were so very fragile. Spock had to be careful. Moving very slowly, he bent and carried him towards the sickbay, mind still furiously whirling, walking slowly so as not to jar the unconscious man in his arms.

They were alone on this ship and had to get away from the planet’s orbit before the captain could be moved to the Enterprise. Kirk was horrendously injured, and needed to get to Doctor McCoy as soon as possible; however, ‘as soon as possible’ wouldn’t happen for another 23.46 hours unless Spock was able to get the ship moving. 

He set Kirk down as gently as possible on the bed’s surface. For the first time, he was able to step back and really take a look at the damage done to his captain’s body. Kirk’s left leg was broken, the shinbone poking hideously through flesh. Numerous contusions and bruises covered his body, from his legs all the way up to his waist and chest. There were a surprising number of…of… bite marks.  Now that Spock had identified the strange markings, he could see that many of the bruises were finger-length, particularly around his captain’s hips and neck. He could detect evidence of broken ribs, and based on the number of bruises on the captain’s skin could logically assume there was internal bleeding in addition.

Logically, he knew that he should go and find water, something to fight the obvious signs of dehydration, but he stood there for a moment looking down at the broken body on the bed.  He reached out, but pulled his hand back millimeters from the Captain’s shoulder, not wishing to add to his pain. He realized the tricorder was still in the cargo hold where he had dropped it when he had pushed open the metal door that had kept Kirk from (him) finding him quickly. The tricorder was not a medical, but would still be able to give him some sort of reading. Once he could be sure that Captain Kirk was in relative safety, he could concentrate on maneuvering the ship out of the planet’s impeding atmosphere.

Yet there he stood. Even in unconsciousness, Kirk’s features were tense with pain. Spock hypothesized that from the position in which his captain had been bound both his shoulders were likely dislocated. The skin of both wrists was swollen and torn as though he had struggled, ceaselessly fighting until he had no more strength from which to free himself.

Spock forced himself to turn around and observe his surroundings. The smell was atrocious. His olfactory senses were bombarded, and Spock had no trouble imagining the distress the sight of the other Starfleet officer would cause his captain.  He quickly broke into some cabinets, counting on this Sickbay to be organized similarly to the Enterprise’s. He found several standard blankets; he stacked a few to the side and used the rest to cover the body and move it to the other part of the ship. He didn’t see any way to clean the large blood spatters, so he used a few of the blankets to cover the mess. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would work for the interim.  While he was searching he located a replicator and unearthed an extremely primitive medical tricorder.  He set about getting water to clean and refresh Captain Kirk, while his mind worked on the mysteries of the actual ship.

The ship’s controls were programmed in Cardassian, but the evidence regarding the design of the ship suggested Klingon. The controls and amenities were antiquated by at least three centuries.  He was a little leery of trusting any of the medical supplies in the cramped quarters. What medical instruments he did find looked more like instruments of torture.  Spock attempted to use the replicator to get the captain some water but noted with a twitch of his lips that it was malfunctioning.  A quick search located several rusty containers of water. He cautiously ran the tricorder over the containers, and when no negative readings were forthcoming even more cautiously tasted it. Not fresh, and certainly not the cleanest, but as no microbial or bacteria was detected, better than nothing.  He tore one of the blankets into cloth strips and set about cleaning the naked body before him.

The first thing he did was wet a strip and place it over the captain’s lips. It was obvious that Kirk was horrendously dehydrated; fluids would have to be reintroduced very slowly. With the other end of the strip, he gently blotted away some of the blood.  The unfamiliar medical tricorder was malfunctioning. Spock took comfort (although slight) in the fact that the captain’s heartbeat still beat fairly strongly, if somewhat erratically.  He slowly dripped more water over and into Kirk's mouth. His captain didn’t stir or respond.

Spock used another strip of cloth to clean the dried blood off of the captain. He bound up what bones he could so that at least the wounds weren’t open to the ship’s air, binding and splinting the bones, but didn’t dare to more than that without a proper medical readout. Starfleet did extensively train its officers in emergency first-aid, and Spock was pleased to be able to do what he could.

Once Kirk had been cleaned up,   more bite marks came into view; - the teeth pattern showed clear incisors with smaller teeth in between- and some still more raw bruising. That was bad, but Spock didn’t start to lose control of his emotions until he turned Kirk over on his side in order to clean his back. The shoulder blades were very prominent due to rapid weight loss. The musculature was marred by more bruises, contusions, and teeth marks. These showed a marked lack of control; the small holes in his flesh were ripped rather than pierced.

There was blood, most of it dried and flaking but some still tacky and sticky around Kirk’s buttocks and upper thighs.

Spock’s hand tightened spastically on Kirk’s hip, causing the other man to moan even in his unconsciousness state. The sound of such fear and hopelessness coming from his throat almost caused Spock to flinch away and drop him back to the bed. He stopped himself from hurting the captain any more, and instead put down one of the blankets onto the bed in order to wrap it around Kirk’s lower body.

Not only kidnapped. Not only taken from his starship for nearly a fortnight but also beaten, held against his will. No, it seemed as though Kirk’s captors had done everything in their power to break his body.

Spock feared what it would do to his mind.

****

An hour later Spock confirmed that Kirk did indeed have a fever. Not surprising, given the number and extent of his injuries. Getting Kirk off this ship had become Spock’s focus and, leaving him still unconscious in the sickbay, Spock walked purposefully towards the bridge.

He could not hail the Enterprise until the brief window of non-interference cycled back around. He was partially wary of piloting the vessel in any way, as the Enterprise crew might see that as a sign of aggression and fire upon him.  He turned to the controls and saw that it was a moot point anyway; before abandoning the ship, its former owners had attempted to make sure that no one would be able to pilot the ship in any way, shape, or form.  Spock calculated that based on the amount of damage, antiquated controls, and obvious lack of mental acuity of whoever had done the damage he would be able to fix it… within the hour.

 Screams from the sickbay had Spock running before he was even fully conscious of doing so.  Deep, ragged, almost inhuman screams gave voice to utter desperation and agony. Had Spock not known for a fact that they were along on the ship, he would never have imagined that a sound like that could come from his captain.

Kirk was huddled in the corner of the sickbay, looking around in horror. Scream after scream seemed to be forcibly pulled from his throat.  His broken fingers were unable to curl properly into fists, and they lay cradled over his knees as he tried to pull into himself and away from what he saw.

“Captain.”  Spock’s voice was calm and quiet, betraying none of his shock at seeing the other man in such a state. He took a step closer, and one more; whatever it was that Kirk was seeing, he was not registering his first officer.

Instinct took over, and Spock was reaching out with his fingertips, placing them gently on Kirk’s temple, cheekbone, and near the pulse point in his neck.  He murmured the words quietly and was still unprepared for the chaos into which he was thrown.

No! Nononono----

Captain, you must cease. You are safe. You are with me.   Instead of the darkness, he was expecting, Kirk’s mind was awhirl with color and sound, images bombarding him one after another until they pulled at him, pulled him in. He was chained and beaten, cruel laughter mocking him with each strike against his flesh. Spock could feel the memoryrememberedreality of each blow to his body.   He was on a planet holding a small human child behind him, looking up at a shadowy figure, despairhungerdisgust….

No, not here. Not again. I can’t… can’tcan’tcan’t….

Captain. Jim.   Jim. You are safe. You must calm yourself.

There was a sense of recognition, but still fear permeating through everything else. Spock felt disgust curl in his stomach at the idea that Jim could associate him with this sort of fear.

Spock..?  The mental image of darkness, black, inky shadows held at bay behind Spock, an impossibly high tower that the nightmares couldn’t pass.  Spock, somehow more real, more solid, and feelings of safety.

Yes. You must cease before you do irrefutable damage to your body. When you are calm, I can help you further.   Again the mental image of all the nightmares, fighting to get free, held beyond Spock, as though he was the lone being responsible for keeping them contained.

Spock prepared to break the meld, only to have Jim’s thoughts, his psyche, pull at him as though he were wrapped in strings.  Hundreds, millions of thin strings that held Jim’s innermost self to his.  As he tried to disengage himself the solidity of Jim’s thoughts clung to his like a frightened child to its favorite blanket.

No. no. not alone.  No… don’t leave… can’t…

Wordless assurances; a soft disengagement.

Kirk’s eye was partially open, tears glistening on his ravaged cheeks. Spock lowered his hand and shook his fingers. There was something... lingering. The only other melds he had initiated had been on Vulcan, strictly supervised by his father. They had been with another full-blooded member of his species, and nothing so raw and emotional had occurred.  This sort of barrage of emotion was difficult to disengage from, and Spock slammed his shields into place, protecting his own fragile hold on his rage and anger at who had done this.

Spock helped Kirk… no, Jim … back up onto the bed, giving him some more water. He found it difficult to keep addressing his captain so formally after forging such a poignant mental connection. It seemed somehow wrong.

Jim didn’t seem to be able to stop the slowly leaking tears, though he was too dehydrated to actually produce any more intense evidence of emotion.  His captain looked numb, huddled miserably in the blanket, unable to hold the vessel of water for himself. Spock assisted him impassively.

Spock made Kirk as comfortable as he could and stretched the blanket over his body once again. His skin seemed more flushed. Small beads of sweat pooled on his forehead, yet he was shivering. This went on for several minutes until the Captain slumped over, once again unconscious.

“Captain, I must get you off of this ship.”

***

Bridge duty was an acquired taste.  Hikaru Sulu sat in the Captain’s chair, body drawn tensely into a rigid perch as he glanced around the bridge. It wasn’t the regularly-assigned Alpha bridge crew. Chekov sat calmly at his station, awaiting orders. Lieutenant Uhura sat with her back slightly to him, back completely rigid. She had such a frown of concentration on her face that Sulu was kind of nervous about interrupting her, lest he get his head bitten off for his troubles. Ensign Kelly sat at the science station, staring off into space.  His own replacement, Geoff Mathos, was also tense, watching the orange planet, the bright purples and blues of the electronic interference, and the alien ship on the viewscreen. Mr. Scott was due back on the bridge any time, having gone to engineering to check on something or other… Sulu wasn’t exactly sure what he had said and hadn’t wanted to make his incompetence known to the crew.

“Sir. I have an incoming message from Starfleet.”

“Ahhh. Okay. I’ll, uh... take it here. Thanks, Lieutenant.”

There was a small nod of acknowledgment and then Admiral Pike’s face filled the viewscreen.

“Greetings, Lieutenant.”

“Admiral.” Sulu had the brief thought that maybe the Admiral wouldn’t ream him in front of so many witnesses and straightened in the chair.

“Status?”

“We are still waiting, sir.”

The Admiral looked slightly put out. “Was there a question about my orders?”

Orders? Scott hadn’t mentioned …. “I’m not sure what you are referring sir. As to Captain Kirk and Commander Spock, no word from either of them, sir. There are still six hours before we can attempt to search for life signs and beam them back.”

“You have new orders, Lieutenant Sulu.”

Sulu blinked. New orders? As in… orders not involving saving their Captain and his First Officer?

“You were to rendezvous with the Reliant. You were expected there an hour ago. Acting-captain Scott was informed of this earlier.”

Ahhh. Shit. He was going to kill the Scottish bastard.

Sulu hadn’t exactly had the opportunity to serve under Pike as a captain for very long, but he was extremely good at reading people. He could clearly see the worry in the other man’s eyes, as well as his exasperation at having to relay orders that he knew the crew of the Enterprise wasn’t going to like.

“Erm, There was an... engine… thing. He went to go see fix it, sir.”

“An ‘engine thing?’”

It was the same sarcasm used when he was asked about the parking brake. Oh, he was so going to be busted back to cadet. “Yes, sir.” He noticed Pavel turning in his chair so that his back was to the Admiral, his eyes comically wide as he stared at Sulu.  They really had to work on that kid’s poker face.  He was fairly sure that it wasn’t an official Starfleet regulation, but ‘cover thy ass of your CO’ really needed to be emblazoned somewhere in the manuals.

“Let me guess. These… repairs… are going to take…”

“Approximately six hours, sir.”

Pike’s lips twitched.  “Understood. Pike out.”

The screen changed abruptly back to the scene they had been staring at for days.

Sulu met the young man’s eyes and forced a smile. He hoped it looked confident and not like he was about to piss himself.

There was a sudden flurry of beeps from Chekov’s station and he whirled in his chair.  Sulu sat forward and tensed again.

“Sir! The wessel! It’s moving!”

Sulu bit his tongue so that he wouldn’t snap at the young Ensign. He could bloody well see that, damn it.

The enemy ship was moving on impulse power… towards the Enterprise.

“Yellow alert. Weapons at the ready.”

“Lieutenant, can you hail them?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Increase visibility fifty percent.”

They all watched as the small ship broke away from orbit and began its path towards them.

“Sir! We are being hailed!”

“On screen.” Sulu snapped.

Commander Spock’s face filled the viewscreen. He looked unharmed. “Commander Spock!” Sulu had never in his life been so glad to see anyone, ever. One eyebrow rose, disappearing into his hairline his reaction to the relief he heard in Sulu’s voice.

“Lieutenant... I have found the captain. Inform the doctor that two will be beaming directly to sickbay. We should be in range in precisely one minute and twenty-two seconds. Engage the tractor beam and bring this ship to cargo bay three.”

“Yes, sir.”

Spock nodded once, and his image faced out.

“Sulu to McCoy!”

“What?” The doctor’s voice was heavy with sleep and none too pleased for the interruption.

“It’s Commander Spock, sir. He’s found the captain. They are beaming directly into sickbay.”

There was a muffled thump and a curse. “It’s about fucking time. McCoy out.”

***

Jim had been barely awake when he felt himself being swung up into someone’s arms. The simple act, although done with the utmost care and gentleness, caused everything in his body to hurt, and he moaned again, feeling sick to his stomach. He was held against someone very warm, and Kirk found himself straining towards that heat, seeking comfort.

“We will be on the Enterprise shortly, Captain.” The words seemed to vibrate under his ear, and Jim belatedly realized that he was being carried through the ship like a bride being carried over the threshold.  It should have been unmanning, but he really didn’t give a flying fuck. He wanted off this ship.

Jim thought he must have passed out or something because it seemed like only a moment before Spock was standing on the transporter pad. Jim felt nauseous all at once and closed his eyes tightly as the incandescent brightness of the transporter beam began to form.  

“Jesus Fucking Christ! Bring him over here!”

If Jim had had the energy, he would have smiled at the worry in Bones’ voice. There were too many people, too many lights and sounds.  He had an absurd urge to make himself into an even smaller target, but tensing up caused something very unpleasant to happen in the vicinity of his ribs, and he cried out in pain.

That one small sound seemed to cause all the flurried activity in the sickbay to completely halt. All Jim could hear was the rapid beat of Spock’s heart under his ear.  His teeth were clenched as he tried not to vomit in front of everyone. He was so dizzy, so disoriented….

“Okay, Spock. You can put him right here. Gently now. Gently…!”

Jim felt the softness of the biobed under him. The encompassing heat faded, and he felt himself turning towards the other man’s body, seeking out the source of that comforting warmth.

There was a sharp pain in his neck, and he opened his eye to see Bones, strong face tightly controlled but for the panic in his eyes, standing over him with a hypo.

\ Was he dreaming? Was this just another hallucination? He had seen so many things on the ship, mistakes, and wishes from his past parading through his thoughts. Talking, begging, and crying to people who couldn’t have been there. Jim became more and more convinced that this was just another dream, another fantasy of being safe. It hurt so much to wake up. Reality had not been his friend, and he could feel the burning of his body, the absolutely desperate longing for water causing him to lose focus, to retreat again back into the vaults of his mind. He didn’t trust the softness of the bed he was in or the sharp feel of one of Bones’ hyposprays.

This was just in his head.

Which meant that Spock was… that he had never… the sudden despair washing over him was its own brand of cruelty. Jim was not sure if he ever wanted to wake up again.  It just hurt too much.

***

Stardate:  2259.60

It was an unforeseen complication.  For a Vulcan, meditation was a way to center the Katra, the psyche, and the sense of self. To be unable to achieve the calmness desired was quite disconcerting. Maddening.  

Spock knelt stubbornly in his chambers.  Incense filled the room, thick enough that he could almost taste it.  He counted his heartbeat, his breaths, willing control over his emotions. It infuriated him that this was the second time that he had been driven to such intense meditation. The fact that he was actually infuriated by anything so illogical was also highly … annoying.

His captain would have called him twitchy.

There was a beep as his subspace communicator went off.

“McCoy to Spock. I know you’re not on the bridge, damn it. I need you. Sickbay. McCoy out.”

Spock could feel his heart rate start to increase, sending his blood flowing more quickly through his veins. He quickly extinguished the incense and rolled his shoulders so that the robe slid off onto the floor. He removed the silk pants and quickly changed into his Starfleet uniform.  Being summoned to sickbay was …disquieting. McCoy had been keeping the captain in isolation so that his body could heal.  The doctor had questioned Spock about what had happened on the enemy vessel but had been distracted enough that he didn’t notice Spock’s uncharacteristic evasiveness.

In the days since beaming back onto the Enterprise Spock had remained in his quarters when not on duty, barely venturing out and ignoring anyone who tried to seek entry to his private domain.  To make matters worse, McCoy had also forbidden him from “lurking” in sickbay until the doctor was ready for him to be there.

The wait had been intolerable. He had instead briefed Starfleet on what he had found in the ship, finding himself strangely reticent to actually speak on the exact nature of the captain’s injuries.  Command asked him to speculate as to why he had been taken, firing questions at him so quickly that Spock had been distinctly uncomfortable at Admiral Pike’s lack of control.

Spock had not mentioned the mind meld, or the shocking images he saw there. He hadn’t even really taken the time to catalog what he had seen in his captain’s mind, uncomfortably aware that in the moment of listening to Jim’s screaming he had reacted emotionally to the situation, melding without permission and against seventeen different Starfleet regulations.

The turbolift’s efficiency was clearly lacking; it was taking entirely too long to arrive at sickbay. Spock made a mental note to inform Mr. Scott of the inadequacy. The doors eventually swished open, and Spock walked purposefully towards his destination.

“Spock! Damn, man you made it here fast.” Obviously, Spock thought. “Well, come on then. You can see him.”

Captain Kirk looked strangely small and exceedingly young sleeping in the biobed. The captain’s eyes were moving behind his eyelids as he sank into REM sleep. He was dressed in some loose-fitting shift and had the electric blue blankets pulled up to his chest, his hands lying on top of the blankets near his sides. Spock was floored by the strength of the wholly sudden and inappropriate desire he had to reach out and take one of his hands, as though touching him would make him more real. The urge to touch was illogical.

He clasped his hands behind his back, staring down at the Captain.  The bruising had faded to shades of yellow and green thanks to Dr. McCoy’s efforts. Captain Kirk’s fingers and wrists were still swollen, but not to the extent that they had been. Both of his shoulders had the same faded bruises, but Spock could tell at a glance that at least they had been properly aligned.

McCoy jerked his head to the left in a way that indicated he wanted to speak with Spock privately.

Jim made a small sound in his sleep, and Spock found himself clasping his hands even more tightly as he followed Dr. McCoy into his private office.  The doctor didn’t speak, going instead to a cabinet behind his desk and retrieving a bottle of an amber-colored alcoholic beverage and a glass. He poured out a small amount and tossed it back, sighing as though he had just completed some arduous task. He rested the glass against his forehead for a moment. Spock walked up behind him and seated himself, folding his fingers in front of his face with his elbows resting on his knees.  There was a tense silence in the office, broken only by the hum of the ship traveling through space.

“He won’t wake up.”

The doctor’s words, spoken with such a tone of worry and underlying fear caused Spock’s own breath to catch. He raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, needing the moment to compose himself.

“You know the injuries he received. All the broken bones, internal bleeding, fever, and infection were easily fixed. No worries. The ... tearing… from the sexual assault needed some surgery, but again… no problem.” There was no hint of the very human tendency to brag in these statements. Spock understood that McCoy was just stating facts, used to (to use the human vernacular) ‘pulling miracles out of hats’.  McCoy’s hands tightened on the glass.

“It’s like he’s just not there. He doesn’t respond to painful stimuli. His body is fine- well, as fine as can be expected after recuperating from such…” The doctor’s voice wavered. “. . . Trauma. But Jim isn’t…”

Spock stared for a moment. There seemed to be some sort of blockage in his throat. His voice was deeper than usual when he spoke. “Why did you bring me here to tell me this, doctor? Logically, this could have been communicated via the ship’s communications.”

The doctor let go of the glass and rubbed his face briskly with the palms of his hands.  “I need you to try something. Some of your Vulcan voodoo.” The doctor waved his fingers in something that was likely meant to be vaguely mystical in nature but looked more like a slight muscle spasm.

Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“Look, damn it. I know that you guys have become friends in the past year we’ve been on this damn ship. I just need you to… sort of give him a noodge.”

“A… ‘Noodge’… sir?”

The doctor’s face turned a few shades darker. He stood up so quickly that his chair fell over backward, crashing onto the floor. He began to wave his hands in a most illogical manner, ranting and muttering under his breath as he paced around his private office. Sufficiently distracted, Spock judged that the doctor wouldn’t notice when he slipped out of his office.

Spock was uncomfortable with being in such close proximity to his captain, so he found a chair to pull up to his bedside, judging that this would take some time.

I know you guys have become friends…

Indeed. Friendship was not something that Spock generally cultivated, yet his captain had made a point of spending time with Spock. Meals, countless chess matches, conversations late at night after their shift was over discussing completed missions.

 He was not a mind-healer. He was not a human psychologist.  Starfleet had severe regulations on any species using any telepathic ability without express consent. Humans were so … particular about keeping their secrets. Indeed, Spock had no wish to be subjected to a closer connection with most of the people he came into daily contact with. It had taken him years of meditation and self-awareness to properly build up the shields necessary to maintain his teaching position at the Academy, surrounded by such illogical, alien emotions on a daily basis.

The irony that he had essentially ignored a lifetime of teaching and tradition to act without thinking, diving into this man’s mind to calm him from whatever demon he was remembering was not lost on Spock. Nor was the guilt. Had he caused this condition? Was it possible that he had erred in some way? Vulcans didn’t make mistakes when it came to the mental acuity needed within their culture, but as Jim took pains to point out to him, Spock was not wholly Vulcan. . Spock had gone over each moment on the Klingon ship until it had crystallized in his mind. Guilt was not a foreign concept; Spock could acknowledge that he was guilty over many things in his life. Sometimes, when sleep eluded him, he would replay his own follies on the Enterprise, wondering if had he acted differently he could have saved his mother’s life, the life of his planet… and now could have somehow prevented this from happening to his friend.

Spock breathed out so hard that the captain’s hair fluttered, and his fingers tingled as they reached out. He flexed them once before softly, so very lightly, touching the cool skin.

“My mind to your mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts…”

The colors were muted now.  Where once there had been shades and nuances of tone, now the surface of Kirk’s mind was eerily calm. Spock felt himself strangely reluctant to explore this version of Kirk’s mind.  He felt more like an interloper than he ever had before.

“Hello. Who are you?”

If it could have, Spock’s jaw would have dropped open in surprise. He titled his head, staring at the small creature before him.  Human. Roughly thirteen years of age. Hair shaved almost painfully thin, the skin of his pink skull showing through in places. The boy’s skin was so fragile, the muscles on his body wry and lean.

There was no mistaking the bright, curious blue eyes.  Even years later the eyes hadn’t changed.

“I am Spock. Do you not know me, captain?”

The child’s nose scrunched up in confusion. “Captain? I’m no captain. My name is Jim. And… no. I don’t know you. Why are you here? Are you hiding too?”

“I am looking for you, Cap... Jim.”

The child’s chin rose as his eyes narrowed. His body fairly bristled with aggression. “Why would you be looking for me? Do you work for him? I am NOT going back there! I won’t do it!”

Spock’s attention was caught by a flicker of a memory, projected over the muted landscape like a slightly out-of-focus holograph.  He saw this strange nonchild/child version of Jim tucking an even smaller child into a pallet of blankets. A small, horribly bedraggled stuffed toy was produced and tucked into the pallet as well.  Jim rocked back on his heels and made his way to the front of the small cave, where a slightly younger boy obviously stood guard.

“Kev’s sick. And hungry. We need to find food. He needs medicines, Jimmy.”

Jim’s chin tilted up in a way that was jarringly familiar to Spock. It was the same look he got on his face when Spock was telling him that he was not acting in the most logical of manners.

“I know, Tom!  Don’t you think that I don’t know that?   Jim looked out into the dark night, up at the stars. “I’ll be back. I knowa way. I know how to get some food.”

“I don’t want you watching that.”   There was the feeling of a sharp finger poking him in the chest. Spock was surprised to find the faint memory flicker and go out. He focused his attention on the smaller, but no less imperious, Jim in front of him. Spock looked down at him. He was completely out of his element, having absolutely no experience with teenage humans.

“My apologies. I do not know which ‘him’ you are referring to. I work for... well… for you, actually. Doctor McCoy asked me to come to find you.”

“Bones?” Another memory, slightly more in-focus this time: McCoy and Jim, both half out of their Starfleet uniforms, kissing passionately against the door of a dorm room.

“Hey! ” An injured yelp.  “That’s private!”

Spock was left reeling. He shook his head sharply, trying to rid himself of the image. Nyota had once used the colloquialism ‘wishing to bleach my brain to get rid of that visual’ and he suddenly understood exactly what she meant by that statement.

“Ah... I am... sorry.”

“What are you, some kind of perv?”  He took a step forward. “Wait, are you… blushing?” He looked up at him, reaching out to touch one of Spock’s ears delightedly.  A completely mischievous look covered the boy’s face, the completely inappropriate grin crooking up at the corner of his mouth. Then, another flicker of memory, as though the previous scene had been fast-forwarded.  He heard the McCoy in the memory moaning in a way that Spock definitely had no desire to ever hear again as the man in front of him kissed down his body, rubbing his cheek against the hardness encased in the black Academy trousers.  Fingers tightened in the light-colored hair as he tugged the younger man up for another open-mouthed kiss.

Spock spun around from both the flickering memory and the impish child, whose wide grin now seemed to be taking over most of his face.

 “Well, that sets that. No way do you work for Him. I never seen someone blush so hard.”

Spock took a moment to breathe, and turned back around, refusing to look at (but certainly able to hear) the memory still flickering out to his left. He could see bodies writhing together out of the corner of his eye.  “Whether I am blushing or not is irrelevant. Who is it that you thought that I worked for?”

All traces of amusement vanished from the younger Jim’s face. “I don’t really like to talk about it. He’s a bad man.”

Jim took a few steps back, body poised to run. Spock instinctively knew that he could not allow this younger Jim to run away. He held up his hand in entreaty.

“That is understandable. Before you go, might I ask you a question?”

“Boy, you sure do have a funny way of talking. All formal ‘n shit.” The boy shrugged. “Sure, you can ask. I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to.”

“Indeed. Don’t you wish to come back with me? McCoy… your… Bones does need you to come back. He is quite distraught.”

The boy looked at him impassively, something flicking in the depths of his blue gaze.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m safe here. I’ve been here before. I like that no one can find me.  Well, you. But I don’t think you’d hurt me.”

“No, Captain…. Jim. I would not hurt you .” Spock was becoming increasingly frustrated. He wanted answers. Who was this younger Jim hiding from? Why was he afraid to come back? Without thinking of the consequences, Spock found himself pushing against Kirk’s mind, searching for the answers he sought.

Many more flickers of memory, too fragile for Spock to actually understand what he was seeing, flashed over the barren landscape. They were more like memories of out-of-focus holographs, rather than the solid images he had seen earlier.  There was a start of surprise, a feeling of betrayal, and Spock was pushed out of Kirk’s mind hard enough to send him reeling.

Spock snatched his fingers back from Jim’s unresponsive face with a gasp.

“What the fuck happened? Why were you there for so long? What?” The barrage of questions let Spock know that McCoy had realized where Spock had indeed gone and was now impatiently awaiting answers. He must have been standing in the doorway because Spock could hear the heels of his boots clicking quickly on the floor as he walked forward.

Spock was grateful that he had chosen to sit in a chair; otherwise, the abrupt push out of the meld would have sent him to the floor.

“Doctor…”  Spock’s head was still swimming from what basically amounted to being kicked out of Jim’s head. One name had solidified from the strange flickers of memory at the end of the meld. He had grasped onto the word, unwilling to let go, understanding instinctively that it was the key to all of this confusion.

 “Who… Who is Kodos?”

 

 

_____________________________

“Captain. I have your message here. It’s on a secure frequency per your request.”  

Lieutenant Uhura’s clear voice jarred Spock out of his inner contemplation.  The Enterprise was en route to Starbase  Jy-420, a medical facility. Doctor McCoy had wanted to make sure that someone else could validate his research. He was afraid that the disease that had struck down so much of the crew so violently was still lurking around, and Starfleet had agreed that checking into the medical Starbase would be in the Enterprise’s best interests.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I will take it in the Captain’s ready room. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.”

“Yes, sir.”

Spock stood up and gave his uniform shirt a sharp tug. He walked quickly off of the bridge and into the relative peacefulness of the Captain’s working area. Spock had always suspected that the Captain would be completely disorganized, but there was no evidence of that here.  Several antique books stood sentinel on the shelves of a small bookshelf.  There was a picture in a wooden frame of an antique Terran vehicle new and shining in the bright sun, juxtaposed with another picture of the same vehicle crumpled almost beyond recognition.   Other than that there was nothing that identified anything of the captain’s personality. Spock sat down and punched in his code to take the message.

“Ambassador Spock.” 

“Greetings Sp--”

“I require your assistance.”  Interrupting an elder was the height of rudeness and uncouth behavior, but Spock did so without hesitation.

The Ambassador blinked.  “What has happened?”

“I am endeavoring to obtain more information on a man called Kodos.”

Spock had searched for hours for information on the name. All he had been able to confirm was that a man by that name had been responsible for numerous atrocities on the small planet of Tarsus IV. However, Spock had no idea how the man was connected to Jim Kirk. There had been several layers of diplomatic and Federation red tape, effectively sealing the files. Spock simply did not have the clearance to read that information.

An Ambassador, however, would.

Spock watched his counterpart’s face as the man’s eyes widened in shock, the aged skin becoming pale.

“Why do you require this information?”

“It is a matter of Captain Kirk’s safety.”  There was a silence as the two stared at each other. Spock refused to let any hint of what he was feeling show in his posture or on his face.

“In my timeline, Jim was… well. While his family was in space, Jim stayed for a time with his relatives on the planet of Tarsus IV. While he was there, a terrible famine struck, leaving food scarce. Governor Kodos executed over 4000 people, deciding which would live and which of the colonists would be put to death. Jim was one of only nine people to survive the mass murder. He never freely discussed his time there. It was most unsettling for him when we came back into contact with the man several years later.”

“Then Kodos did not die on the planet?”

“He did not. In the chaos caused by Starfleet arriving on the colony and discovering what had transpired there, Kodos had escaped.”

Spock was quiet, mind working furiously.

“What has happened?” Ambassador Spock repeated himself, his voice tight with worry.

“I need … a favor.”

He waited for a moment, choosing exactly what to say. “You must get me the Starfleet file from this time. From this Kodos. There is information I must access, and even as Sarek’s son, I do not have the proper classifications.”

“Why do you need this information?” Spock could recognize the beginnings stirring of anger in his counterpoint’s voice as he repeated himself for the third time.

Spock debated for a moment on whether or not to tell his counterpart all that had happened. Surely, he would have to impart this information somehow. The older man deserved to be kept abreast of Spock’s suspicions.  He paused for another second to gather his thoughts and started to speak. The words were emotionless, spoken without inflection or feeling as he related the captain’s disappearance, his injuries, and the second meld that the doctor had asked him to do.

The look on the other Spock’s face, however, was anything from impassive.  Most humans would likely not have noticed, but Spock could see him grow paler and paler as he spoke.

“And you saw a younger version of him? In your meld. Not the older version that captains the Enterprise, but a child? Actual memories?”

“Yes, Elder. It was quite . . . disconcerting to see memories of the captain with Doctor McCoy. I find that I was most displeased at seeing such a passionate encounter.”

There was a sound that would have been an indignant squawk in anyone else. The look on The Ambassador’s face could only be termed as … horrified.

Fascinating. They both seemed to have the same response.  Spock had found himself thinking of those memories more and more at the most inopportune of times. On occasion, he found himself quite abrupt with the doctor. It was such a private thing to have been witness to.

“That the captain has in effect locked himself away lends evidence to my hypothesis that Kodos has indeed appeared in this timeline as well. Jim spoke of hiding, of not feeling safe. I postulate that wherever, whenever he is in his own mind, he will stay there until he knows that he will not be harmed upon his return. I must know what happened. The fact that the records are surrounded in such secrecy also leads me to believe that whatever did happen on that planet, Starfleet will go to great lengths to keep it hidden.”

“Indeed.” 

Spock watched his other self think through everything he had told him.

“I believe you should bring your captain hereto New Vulcan. I believe that there are sufficient mind-healers here to be able to help.  I will talk to our father and see if we can set things in motion for this to happen more efficiently. In the meantime…”  He rattled off a series of alpha-numeric code sequences. “I hope this information gives you some of the answers that you seek.  Good luck, Spock.”

“Luck is not necessary. But thank you, Elder.”

Spock ended the call and wasted no time in using his counterpart’s clearance to find the information he sought.  He was pleased that Spock had managed to retain much of the same status as he had held in his timeline, although he was now known as Ambassador Salkek. Very few people knew of his true identity. Most outsiders accepted him as yet another Vulcan Elder, rescued from the doomed planet. There was no question that he was powerful and could assist with highly delicate matters.  It had been quite a fascinating conversation to have with his father when he asked for confirmation of the elder Spock’s identity.  Spock often found himself wondering how his counterpart had let his father know of his presence.

There was a series of beeps as Spock was finally able to access the information he needed.  The video that appeared on his viewscreen showed a still frame of a young James Kirk. Spock hesitated for a moment before accessing the video. It was shocking to see the thirteen-year-old Kirk being pulled into a hug by his tearful mother. The Kirk he knew was overly tactile, even for a human. He was constantly touching people without even realizing that he was doing it. Spock found it… strangely unnerving. The child from the Starfleet records looked much thinner than he had in Kirk’s mind. His face was gaunt, body emaciated. The hair was the same, shaved so closely in spots that the skin peeked through. His skin was an unhealthy grey. There were large circles under his eyes and he moved as though he would shatter into pieces at any moment.

The two boys behind him were also recognizable from Kirk’s memory. The elder of the two looked shell-shocked, while the younger had his thumb plugged firmly into his mouth. There was an older lady with them, and five other horrifically filthy children of various ages clustered around her in the back of the shuttlecraft.  Kirk stood stoically in his mother’s tearful embrace, and Spock knew that whatever happened on that planet had been violently changed from the events in the other timeline. In this timeline… he had been anybody’s prey.

There were several more records- mostly reports of childhood psychological assessments and the occasional interview. The medical report and subsequent Starfleet inquires alluded to the fact that Kirk, regardless of his own safety, had used himself as a bargaining chip, trading sexual favors with Kodos and whomever else he could find in the Governor’s hierarchy that would give him food to keep the younger children in his care alive.

***

Three hours later found Spock sitting in the conference room, the bridge staff staring at him somewhat nervously. The planet most referred to as New Vulcan could be seen out of the observation windows, looking eerily like his homeworld. He had never called a staff meeting before. Perhaps they were somewhat unnerved by the Captain’s chair remaining empty, while Spock sat impassively to his left as he always did.

“Computer. Cease recording devices to the Deck Seven conference room.  Spock oh-one-three-oh-six-Alpha.”  His sudden voice caused Ensign Chekov to jump a little in his seat.

“What I am about to tell you must be kept in the utmost confidence. It concerns Captain Kirk.  Starfleet would be less than pleased to know that I am about to share this classified information with you.”

There was a snort from the doctor’s seat as he tapped rhythmically on his leg with his fingers.

“If you do not care to hear this information, you may leave now.” Spock met the nervous gazes of the doctor, Commander. Scott, Ensign Chekov, and Lieutenants Uhura, and Sulu. “No one will fault you for this.”

It was Chekov that spoke. “Please, sir. How can ve help the Keptain?”

Spock waited a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“You are aware that the Captain was grievously injured after he was forcibly taken from this ship. What you don’t know is that someone was targeting him. I believe that there were a handful of others who were likewise targeted. I do not know how many of them, aside from the Captain, has been found, aside from one. While on the Klingon vessel. I found another Starfleet officer, murdered and left on the ship.  The doctor has confirmed his identity as one Lieutenant Thomas Leighton.”

Spock waited for a moment to see if the words would spark any recognition. Unsurprisingly it was Uhura who spoke.

“He was… was one of the survivors of Tarsus IV. I remember the press had a field day with his book, accusing him of lying and treason against Starfleet. His story was so sad. It’s about three teenagers, well, kids really, who survived the famine. I remember the higher-ups were furious at his allegations that Starfleet had known what Kodos was doing on the colony.”

Spock remembered her reading the book, contentedly curled up on her couch while he went through various PADDs of student assignments.  She had often read while he worked. It was one of the many things that had so endeared her to him.

“Indeed.”

“So the Captain was … one of the survivors?”

“Yes. He was one of the few who could recognize Kodos’ face; I can only speculate that his name was kept out of any official record because of his father and his affiliation to Starfleet.  I believe that Kodos was responsible for taking the captain from us and that the disease was simply a diversion to keep us incapacitated so that he could get a head start.”

“A diversion. Seventeen people dead for a diversion.”  The doctor’s voice cracked.  Spock noted that Uhura leaned towards him, her body language saying clearly that she was desirous of comforting the doctor.

Interesting.

“You are aware that the Klingon ship was set to self-destruct.”

“Aye. The doctor went barmy when he realized that the only things that were beamed back were a dead man and your communicator.”

McCoy glared at Scott.

“It could not be helped. I calculated that I had insufficient time in which to free the Captain.”

“Okay so... what now? What are we doing now?” Sulu spoke at a much quicker pace than usual.  “Why all the secrecy?”

“If I am correct in my assumption that it was indeed Kodos that orchestrated the Captain’s disappearance, then he had his hands on one of the few people in the galaxy who could identify him. For ten days.”

Chekov gasped.

Spock looked over to the doctor, who cleared his throat before speaking.

“Jim has severe mental trauma. So severe, in fact, that I can’t reach him. Spock has elicited the help of his people; some mind healers that he believes can snap him out of it.”

“That’s good then!” Uhura looked relieved as she looked from the doctor to Spock. “Isn’t it?”

The doctor snorted again.

Spock raised his eyebrow pushed a few buttons, and the recorded message was queued up for all to watch.  Admiral Pike’s face seemed to glare down at them like some great predator.

“Commander Spock. Your father has made it clear that you wish to take the Captain to New Vulcan to help. He has made it an official diplomatic request, and you both are cleared to visit for no more than a week. Just you two mind you. This is not a shore leave. The Vulcans want to discharge their debt for Jim’s heroics during the Nero incident.”

They could hear Spock’s voice, although the subspace communication did not show him speaking.  “And what of Kodos? Are we to just ignore the fact that this man has—”

“That is classified. I don’t know how the hell you found out about it, but Spock, please hear me when I say you need to let this go. Starfleet will handle this. You will not, and I repeat not go after this man. He is too dangerous.  Go to New Vulcan. See if they can help Jim. Bring him home if they can’t, and we’ll figure it out then.”

“I fail to see the logic in maintaining a conspiracy to keep this man and his deeds a secret. He is an enemy of the Federation and has murdered at least one Starfleet officer as well as grievously injuring another. I find Starfleet’s instance on letting him go the epitome of abject cowardliness.”

Admiral Pike’s facial features became even more closed off and expressionless, except for one vein pounding prominently in his temple.  When he did speak it was through clenched teeth. “You are dangerously close to an official reprimand.”

There was no sound from Spock while Admiral visibly tried to get a hold of himself.  “You do not fully understand the situation. If we find evidence that it was Kodos that hurt the captain-”

Here Spock broke off his thought. “Reprimand me if you wish, Admiral. But know that I will find whoever was responsible.   We will arrive in New Vulcan in approximately four hours. Spock out.”

Spock ended the transmission.

“Jesus, Spock. Remind me never to piss you off.” Bones seemed somehow horrified and impressed at the same time.

The tiniest of smirks was apparent on Spock’s lips.

“So that is the situation. Once the captain is back and … more himself, I fully plan to continue my investigations. I wanted you to be aware of my actions. I do not expect you to —”

“I’ll do ewery thing in my power to help the keptin. He is a good man. He would do it for anyone of us.” The teenager looked positively petrified to be calling attention to himself, yet determined to have his say.

There were nods around the table, and Spock thought to himself, not for the first time, how fortuitous it was that they had solidified into such a close working unit. He knew that without a doubt, regardless of his extensive Starfleet training, he never could have commanded such loyalty as did the captain.

After that, the meeting broke up.   

“Spock. Can you wait a moment?” 

Spock moved out of the way of the doorway in order to let the rest of the crew pass.  McCoy was the last to leave. Spock noticed that the doctor gave him one unreadable look as the doors swished shut behind him, leaving him alone with Lieutenant Uhura.

Uhura surprised him by stepping into his private space and lightly resting her hand on his forearm.  “Spock… are you… is there something else wrong?”  She tilted her head slightly looking up at him, concern plain on her face. 

He took a purposeful step back. “No, Lieutenant. There is nothing else that I can share with you at this time.”

“I don’t mean regarding the Captain... it’s just… you’ve been…” She stopped talking, pausing to collect her thoughts so that she could express herself without insult. “A little off.”

He blinked. At once, he wanted to tell her everything.

 Maybe she could help him. He’d discovered that she was extremely perceptive, often ‘translating’ colloquialisms or nuances of human behavior that had baffled him.  They had ceased their intimate relations as soon as he had offered to be Captain Kirk’s first officer, as Nyota had not wanted the stigma of having an intimate relationship with a commanding officer to mar her career.  She had pointed out that they were better as friends, and to Spock’s chagrin he found this to be accurate.  The transition to ‘friendship’ had happened quite smoothly, with them sharing meals and discussing the same sort of things they had previously, only without the addition of physical intimacy.  

She had been the one to encourage him to ask the captain to play chess one night, a query that had eventually evolved into a twice-weekly occurrence and had laid the groundwork for his friendship with the other man.

“Spock?”

He had taken too long- was just standing there staring.  “I have had some difficulties processing everything that has happened recently.” As Kirk would say, that was the understatement of the century.  “I find myself unable to find logic in …” 

“In Starfleet covering up a diplomatic nightmare?”  She took a step back and boosted herself up on the table to look up at him while he tried to put his thoughts into words, understanding that he needed the space right now.

“On Vulcan, an elected government would not lie to its people. There are checks and balances to assure that no one person has more power on the council than any other.  If the Federation had not been untruthful with the issue a decade ago, then we would not be in this predicament now.”

Nyota was nodding.  “You don’t get the lying.”

“I do not.”

She thought for a moment. “It is hard to explain. I suppose someone thought that telling the truth- that they had botched the capture of a deranged mass murderer- would hurt morale for those of us who have made Starfleet our life. Maybe they wanted to keep the names of the victims out of the limelight to help them somehow.”  

Spock found himself taking a step forward. He could not share the details of what had been done to their captain but found himself at a loss to properly articulate how horrible it was.  “Be that as it may, the ramifications of … such ill-conceived thinking…” He broke off, unwilling to say more. 

He was surprised when she flung her arms around him. Her hands locked around his neck, and she brought him down for a quick, chaste kiss on the lips.  Spock could read her emotions: she wanted to comfort him, help him in some way.  Their lips met again and they kissed, slightly less chastely this time, drawing apart and resting their foreheads together.

“You should—”

“Spock! You better meet me at the transporter room!”  It was hard to hear the doctor’s voice over the loud screaming that could be heard over the open communications line. Spock recognized the sound; it was the same cry that had caused him to drop everything and simply sprint towards the sound of such pain.  The screaming broke off into a number of whimpers, as though the captain was keeping himself from screaming by sheer force of will.  “I don’t know what’s wrong now, but something definitely is! The quicker we get him to your voodoo people the better.”

“Understood.” 

 

Nyota had already drawn away, hopping down off the table and giving him a little hug. “Just know that you can always talk to me if you need to. Okay? That hasn’t changed.” She gave him a quick, sad smile and left, Spock quickly following behind her.

Kirk lay on a stretcher in the middle of a Transporter Room A. He was awake, staring up at the ceiling. The only sign of emotional upheaval was the tear tracks on his cheeks.  The doctor was practically hopping up and down, unable to keep still.

“Strangest damn thing. Just started hollerin’, then whimpering, then just snapped awake. He isn't blinking though, or give any other response.” McCoy sounded disappointed but took his tricorder over Kirk’s body one more time to be sure.

Spock was at the stretcher in two strides, sliding his hands under the captain’s knees and shoulders in order to lift him up into his arms.

 “You could just beam the stretcher, you know.”

“I am aware.” He walked to the transporter and met the doctor’s eyes. “I will contact you when I have news.  Mr. Scott, you have the Conn. I would appreciate it if you could examine the Klingon ship,” he paused. “I believe the expression is with a fine-tooth comb. I wish to know everything about the vessel when we return.”

“Aye, sir. Everyone ready then?”  Scott looked at the captain as though he could will him to respond based solely on the intensity of his stare. “Energizing….”

***

He was unsurprised to see his counterpart and father both standing impassively to the side as he materialized. They had been conversing softly and broke off at the sound of the transporter.

The three greeted each other, and Spock was directed to a smaller chamber. He recognized that he was in his father’s home; it looked almost exactly the same as his living space on Vulcan.  As Spock walked, he could feel his captain curling into his body again, as though seeking warmth.  Spock was surprised enough that had he been anyone else, he would have dropped him.  Kirk had been completely unresponsive since arriving in the Enterprise’s sickbay.  Spock found himself tightening his grip, feeling marginally more hopeful that they could indeed bring the captain out of wherever he was currently hiding in his mind.

“Place him here.”

Spock did so, finding himself surprisingly reluctant to let go.  The other two men knelt on each side of Kirk, reaching out in tandem and initiating a meld. Spock shifted behind them, watching how Kirk’s face tensed from the high level of telepathic activity.  Only a few minutes had passed before the two broke off the meld, staring at each other, surprised. They almost seemed to be communicating without speaking, as Sarek moved further back and The Elder Spock leaned over the captain again, firmly placing both hands on his psi points.

Spock watched as Jim’s face relaxed minutely. He settled his gaze on his counterpart, who had a look of peace on his face as he worked.  Spock was shocked by the wholly illogical spurt of unfamiliar emotion he felt as he stared at the captain’s calm face with his older self looming over him.

There were several minutes of silence.  Sarek did not speak, and neither did Spock as he struggled to put aside the irrational emotion. He had been angry before, but this… this felt different. Colder somehow. Less violent and more concentrated.

His counterpart broke the connection with the captain’s mind with a small gasp of air. “How many times have you bonded with this human?”

Spock’s heart began to pound. “Twice.”

Spock looked sharply at the younger version of himself. “You did not speak of this during our earlier communication.”

“No, I did not.”

The Elder didn’t miss a beat. “Come. You must join with our minds.”

Part of Spock had understood this would be required when beamed down, had known that there would repercussions from hiding the truth. He had understood instinctively that something had gone wrong when he melded with his captain on the enemy ship. That strange feeling of adhesion… as though their minds had needed to cling to each other… he sighed, knelt, and found himself in Kirk’s mind once more.  Spock’s fingers tingled when he reached out to touch his face.

“Hey! I thought I told you to get the hell out of here!” The younger Jim stood with his arms crossed over his shoulders, glaring at the older Spock.  Spock found himself doing the mental equivalent of clearing his throat. Jim turned his full attention on him. Spock was disquieted by the clear, blue gaze.  “Oh. It’s you. I thought I got rid of you already.”

Spock could feel his counterpoint become less in the foreground, serving as more of an anchor to the present.  He was grateful; he knew how easy it would be to get lost here. “Yes, capt.. Jim. You did. I thought you might like some company. You looked like you could use a… friend.”

The child tilted his head and looked up at him. “Are we friends?”

 

A flicker of memory :

“Spock? Are you busy this evening? Maybe after shift?” The Captain stood there, shifting his weight from one foot towards the other.

“I have a number of experiments that need my attention, captain.” Spock entered a few key sequences on the PADD, not paying particular attention to the conversation, the bulk of his awareness on the preliminary results of the experiment he was running.

“Oh.” Spock looked up briefly in time to see some emotion flicker over the captain’s face. “Uhura had mentioned that you enjoy a game of chess every once in a while.” He quickly looked back down.

“Chess, captain? You play ?” Spock raised an eyebrow, looking up from the PADD again, interested despite himself.

“Yeah. A game here and there. But I can see you’re busy. Sorry to have interrupted. Well, maybe some other time.” The captain clapped him on the shoulder and walked off down the corridor, heading for his quarters.

Spock stood there for a moment, looking after the captain’s retreating back, surprised at the stab of disappointment he felt.

The memory flickered and changed.

“And then… the Elloran said…. I don’t know! I can’t tell!”  The captain stared for a moment, as though waiting for Spock to dissolve in giggles. “Get it?? I can’t … tell!!”

“Perhaps you should concentrate less on your sophomoric attempts at humor, and more on your chess game. Check.”

The captain shot him a dirty look before turning his attention to the game. “Well, hell. If you’re going to be that way about it….” The younger man managed to rescue his king and continue the game, staring at the board in concentration, brow wrinkled slightly as he thought. They were silent for several moments until Spock distinctly heard the captain make a rude sound under his breath, shooting a look at him from under his eyelashes.

“Was there something, sir?”

Kirk leaned back in his chair, balancing in a way that seemed to absolutely defy gravity. “Oh... I was just thinking.”

“Fascinating.”  Spock kept his voice absolutely inflectionless.

“See! That’s what I mean!” The chair landed on its legs with a small thump. “I know you have a sense of humor buried in there somewhere. You say the damndest things sometimes.  Bones thinks I’m nuts, but I think that you really get sarcasm. You certainly seem to give it out well enough.” The captain took a sip of his beer.

“Is it not better to give than to receive?”

There was a sputter, and Kirk choked on the beer he had just sipped. He coughed a few times, eyes tearing up, trying unsuccessfully to hide his mirth.

“I do not understand. What did I say to garner such a response?”

“Ahh. Nothing. Nothing, Spock.” There was a beat of silence and a wholly wicked look in the captain’s eyes. “Although I bet Uhura can explain it. In detail.”

“As I am not currently with the Lieutenant at this time, I would appreciate it if you would explain. Details are always pertinent.”

The captain’s eyes widened momentarily, and Spock noticed that his tanned complexion turned slightly redder as he flushed. Spock watched him for a moment, strangely disappointed. “It would seem as though I have disproven your theory as to my sense of humor, captain,” he said quietly.

“Oh! No, I’m sorry Spock. I was just teasing you.”

“Indeed. Checkmate.”

“Aw, balls.”

The boy seemed to be thinking as he and Spock stood side-by-side, watching the memory.  Another flicker…

“James T. Kirk."

Spock could see the captain, looking at the man before him as though he had done something exceptionally shocking. "Excuse me?!"

He recognized the voice, of course, as his counterpart spoke. "How did you find me?" They looked to be in a cavern of some sort, with flickers of firelight just barely highlighting their features. Spock was ashamed as always at the fleeting feeling of guilt. This must have been on Delta Vega, where Spock had abandoned Kirk without caring whether or not he survived, infuriated at the gall of this human upstart who would speak to him utterly without respect, completely defying his orders.

 He heard the suspicion in the captain’s voice when he responded. "How do you know my name?"

His response, when spoken, caused Spock to hold his breath. "I have been… and always shall be…your friend." The simple words, spoken with such a depth of feeling made Spock feel as though the very universe had somehow tilted, changing his perception of everything that had happened.  He could clearly remember his own turmoil and disbelief when Spock advised him that he had the unique ability to be in two places at once. “I could not deprive you of the revelation of all that you could accomplish together. Of a friendship that will define you both, in ways you cannot yet realize.” The words had seemed prophetic. He could now glean the meaning; understand how yes, a relationship with one person could indeed start to define another. Had he not done everything in his power to get his captain to the doctor that could help his failing, fragile body? Was he not willing to defy Starfleet, and indeed the very Federation in order to get answers?

If that wasn’t friendship… what was?

 The younger Kirk gave Spock a funny sort of smile and flickered once before disappearing completely. Spock turned around, looking for where the boy had gone. “Captain!”. Spock turned his head again. There was nothing for him to hide behind.  No rocks or boulders- nothing that would shield him from view.  The strangely muted colors had a strange sort of shimmer to them. “Jim!”

 In an instant, Spock was snapped out of the meld and back into reality.

___________________________________

 

Spock found himself struggling against his older self, surprised at the strength that held his arm away.

 “You must …cease!”

Spock, still disoriented from the meld, froze at the sharp note of command.

“Can you not see what has transpired?”

Spock jerked his wrist out of the other man’s grip. “I do not.” His hand shook slightly with tremors.

Spock could see the signs of temper in the other man’s face: the flared nostrils, green tinge to the skin as it flushed in anger, and the narrowed eyes, but he was completely baffled as to what caused this to happen.

“Do you not see what you have done?”

Spock was honestly puzzled. Before he could defend himself, he found the strength of his counterpart’s mind sliding against his own, the feeling strangely sensual. The Ambassador didn’t give his younger self a chance to cast about feebly for answers but firmly steered him in the direction he wanted. 

Spock could see it, like some incandescent, shimmering serpent. It wasn’t alive but moved as though it were. It was tied firmly to the elder Spock’s katra, wrapping around it as though giving support. Spock understood that this was a visual representation of a bond, reserved for bondmates, although he had never seen anything as strong as this before. His father, when first teaching him as a child, had once shown him what a ‘healthy’ bond would look like, so that he could recognize his own binding wit h T'Pring . His father’s bond with his mother had been extremely strong but was nothing like this.

His gaze flew hungrily over the bond, twisting sinuously as though thinly crafted chains had been braided together, and together and together, each touch and shared thought, each intimacy and feeling built one and on top of each other to form something strong and encompassing.  He was utterly shocked to see this bond, which was so much beyond beauty, come to an abrupt end The ends looked as though they had been cauterized, soldered over without any hope of being reforged.

My bondmate was . . . taken from me.

If Spock could have fallen to his knees with shock, he would have. The idea that something so beautiful could have been in some way destroyed was both horrifying and cruel. Something shifted, and Spock could feel for a moment the absolute despair that severing such a bond had caused his counterpart. Only for an instant, then blocked, shut off… locked away to the smallest, furthest compartment of his mind.

Do you understand? Can you not see this within?

And all at once, he could. The shadowy presence, constantly in the back of his mind.  He had hidden away from the possibility… from even a hint that this could be possible. Things began to fall into place quickly, as though his mind finally had permission to catch up with itself.

Why he couldn’t function with his normal efficiency while his captain was hurt.

The small ‘click’ of completion, as though sliding the last puzzle piece into place when he allowed himself to reach out to his captain’s mind.

His utter inability to calm himself after leaving Jim in Sickbay.  His sudden possessiveness.

As each realization came into being, Spock could see his own bond, bright in places, yet sickly in others.  It was unfinished, almost completely transparent.

The Elder Spock broke away with his mind almost without him noticing beyond the sudden crazed circle of his thoughts.

Spock bowed his head, breathing hard as he struggled to compartmentalize what he now understood. He could feel his thoughts running around and against each other like small panicked animals” instead.  He forced himself to look at his captain, who slept on, completely oblivious to the realizations his bondmate was now experiencing.

He stood there for several moments, attempting to regain some sort of control.

“Initially, I had hoped to be able to help your Jim.  It would be a simple matter to have him acknowledge his fear, rather than hide behind it. I confess that I had not anticipated this taking very long at all.”

“But now he rejects your help.”

“Indeed.  Your bond is not fully formed, yet it prevents me from my own inquiries into his mind. I do not know if I can help you.”

Spock felt a burst of panic, jerking his gaze away from his captain and meeting his counterpart’s eyes.

“Be easy.  I did not mean to imply that he is beyond help. It is a simple matter of showing you what to do.”

“If the bond has not fully formed, then can it be broken?”

Something very much like disappointment flickered in the depths of the Ambassador’s gaze.  “You wish this? Truly?”

“I…I do not know.”  He didn’t. “How… how is it possible for …” Spock broke off unable to articulate his query.  The idea that a Vulcan could mishandle something as primary as a mind-meld was … daunting. The very fact that he could have done something so… unanticipated was horrifying. He moved to seat himself, assuming his meditative pose without consciously thinking about it, positioning himself to the captain’s left. 

He took a deep breath, trying once again to force his thoughts into some sort of order. His guilt over this situation was irrelevant. If the captain needed his help, then he would have his help.  If the bond could be severed later, then he would do so.

As confusing as everything was, one thing stood out with absolute clarity:  the captain would not wish to be bonded to his First Officer for the rest of his life.  Most bonds were similar to the human concept of marriage, in the sense that two compatibly minded people bonded with the eventual goal of procreation to advance the species.  Spock’s jaunt into the captain’s memories showed that Kirk did feel friendship for him, but Spock was highly doubtful that the Captain would ever be interested in anything more intimate. His own feelings on the matter were again irrelevant.  Spock had chosen James T Kirk as his captain when he became the First on the Enterprise. It was his choice that had led him to this moment. He could do nothing less than everything to help his Captain in any way it was required of him.

The elder Spock had said that the key lay in helping Jim separate from the strange break in his psyche, or rather to understand that there was a break between the adult Jim and the younger.  Part of Spock felt extremely uncomfortable doing this. These were such private memories, ones that caused Jim great personal anguish. Being a witness to that was excruciating.  But if you have truly bonded with him, sharing his memories is both your burden and your blessing. 

He sighed, reached out, and melded with his bondmate once again.

***

This time was very different.  It was as though his acknowledgment of the bond brought everything back into vivid clarity. He could feel it, wavering in and out of his consciousness (or his consciousness’ consciousness if one were being particular). He could feel Jim at the end of it.

“Jim?” His voice seemed to echo in this strange landscape of Jim’s mind.

“Hey… Spock!”   Spock was astounded to see the “right” version of his captain come sauntering towards him. The same version he’d seen countless times striding around the deck of the enterprise, confident, direct gaze warming in greeting as he drew closer to him.

“Where the hell am I?”

Interesting. Spock spoke cautiously. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“Ahh. Reports. I had a shitload of paperwork to catch up on. I remember …remember… okay, actually I don’t remember anything after sending off my reports to Starfleet. Poof. It’s a complete blank. Then I woke up here… walking around aimlessly until I felt you speak.”

“Felt me?”

Jim cocked his head to the side, rubbing the back of his neck briskly, looking rather sheepishly down at his feet.  “Yeah. Felt. It’s the weirdest damn thing, Spock. Like déjà vu that has giant teeth and tentacles or something. It’s freaking me out a little to be honest.  I felt that you were here somewhere with me. Like we were separated or something, and if I just kept looking I would find you.”  He shifted his weight from one foot to the next. “And... I was right. Here you are.” He grinned at Spock kind of shame-facedly, as though he expected Spock to call him a liar at any moment.

Spock blinked slowly. His captain was speaking of a level of intuition that shouldn’t be present in a human.

The scene around them blurred and changed rapidly, swirling around them in a chaotic mix of color and sound until it solidified, reforming into a dimly lit corridor. There were several doors on each side of the imagined hallway.  This was vastly different than the somewhat abstract memories from before.

“What….what’s this?”

“It’s a corridor, Captain.”

Spock had no problems reading the look Jim shot him.

“Thanks, Spock. Your powers of observation are still unmatched throughout the galaxy,” Jim spoke dryly.  “Okay, so why are we in a corridor? What the hell is going on?”

“We are in your mind.  Well, parts of us are. We are physically on New Vulcan in one of my father’s sleeping chambers. You have been… ill.” Jim swung around, looking at Spock solemnly. His hand seemed very hot as it rested on Spock’s forearm. Spock was rather disconcerted at the way the weak bond seemed to flare at the phantom touch. It was reacting much in the same way as it would in the physical world. The sensation of heat from Jim’s skin was … distracting.  “You were taken from the ship. From the Enterprise…” Spock broke off as something seemed to flicker in the other man’s clear, blue gaze.  Jim moved his hand away, looking out at the doors, evenly spaced throughout the hall.

“Weird. So, why did we go to New Vulcan? Why couldn’t McCoy help me?”

“There were complications. Your physical body was hurt in such a way that it caused you great mental distress. I miscalculated some information and caused some damage to part of your mind. It can be remedied, but first, you will need to acknowledge whatever you are… suppressing.”

“Oh.”   One small whispered syllable shouldn’t be able to convey such a wealth of emotion.

Spock found himself standing with his hands behind his back, watching his captain’s face as he struggled to understand. “I am here because of my…”

“Miscalculation?”

“Yes. I reacted … illogically.”

“You mean you reacted like a human.  The two are not mutually exclusive, Spock” Jim paused as though to collect his thoughts. I’m sorry that you seem to be stuck here with me. I don’t imagine this will be comfortable for you at all. But…” he trailed off, looking at the rest of the doors lined up in the corridor with an unreadable look on his face. “I am... glad you’re here, Spock.”

“As am I. Shall we begin, sir?”

Jim raised his eyebrows but otherwise didn’t comment as the two walked down the corridor. “So, whatever is behind these doors is something from what… my past?”

“I believe so. We are, after all, in your mind.” 

“What injuries did I have when I got back to the Enterprise? I mean, surely McCoy could have pieced together something of what had happened to me.”

“Affirmative, sir .”  Spock found that he was strangely nervous as they stopped in front of the first door. Speaking professionally was more of a habit than anything else, but from the way Jim looked at him out of the corner of his eye, Spock understood that he had done something insensitive. “That is to say… yes, Jim.”

Jim’s quick, blinding flash of a smile and subsequent clap on his shoulder made Spock’s own lips twitch in response.

“Your injuries were extensive. However, I do not believe that I should go into detail at this time. I believe that you will… see what happened when you are ready.” Spock spoke haltingly, aware that he was being somewhat cowardly by not coming right out and answering the other man’s question.

“I’m not sure that I really want to go down this chamber of horrors. There are a lot of doors here. It’s kind of bizarre.”   As he spoke the scene changed again becoming less solidly formed and more insubstantial.  Spock recognized it as much like the flickering ‘landscape’ from before.

Jim took a shaky breath.  “Alright then. Let’s get this show on the road. I have a ship to captain.”

***

 The scene shifted as though they were watching a holograph. It started off as before, flickering and unsubstantial. The image solidified to a planetary landscape on a very pleasant night. Spock instinctively looked up to the sky, as though he could discern the location from the stars alone.  Jim’s movement followed his, only he flinched hard enough in recognition that he almost took a step back into Spock, who had been standing behind and slightly to the left of the Captain as was his custom.

Jim gasped for air as his whole body turned rigid.  “Oh, okay I get it now. This is like therapy. As if every goddamn psychoanalyst in two detention centers, three different boarding schools, and Starfleet didn’t already try to pick my brain apart. Well, no. No fucking way. I’m not doing this again.”

 Spock raised an eyebrow. Jim sounded petulant. It was closer to the voice of the younger Jim that he had met before instead of the older version that stood in front of him.  “I do not believe you have a choice.” With that, Spock put both of his hands on Jim’s shoulders and spun him around to look at the images that were forming. Once again, the almost physical jolt of surprise when they touched shocked Spock into quickly letting go of the other man. 

The bond flared at the touch, and the flood of emotion from Jim caused him to gasp. Terrorhateragehungerescape Spock had just a moment to try to reinforce his own shields before the scene solidified around them completely, as though he were really there.   

There was a strange whining sound from the man in front of him, and Spock watched stoically as Jim’s eyes darted around as though he were a trapped animal.  Jim was breathing heavily; face completely bloodless in the dark night.

“I can’t… I can’t do this. Not… again.”

“You can. You must.” Spock said, simply.

Jim spun away from him, still darting his gaze around the landscape. He doubled over, placing his hands on his thighs, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Spock….”

But Spock understood.  “Jim, I do understand that this is not a comfortable situation for you. But you must do this.” Spock paused again. “You have a duty.”  He stared at him for a moment, judging the reaction to his next words. “You have never struck me as a coward. Jim.”

Jim’s head came up, emotions flicking over his features too quickly for Spock to identify before his face went carefully blank. There were a few beats of silence. “Let’s go. Should be a lot of fun.”

Spock rather doubted that.  He knew what the Starfleet files had said in this situation, thanks to his other self. He had read extensively about the effects of sexual abuse and trauma on the human psyche. But experiencing it firsthand was … something he had never done.  They waited in silence, Jim ahead of him, each nuance of his posture and behavior showing that he was still upset with his First Officer’s words.

There was a gasp of air and Spock saw that Jim was biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.  “Okay… Okay... Um, this is the palace. Kodos’ main control center.  When the food died, he figured out the best way to control a hungry population was to … kill them all.”

The scene flickered as Jim spoke, a visual representation of his words.  Spock watched impassively as the younger Jim clutched the hand of a girl roughly the same age. She had long blond hair and seemed to be crying. They were in a crowded room, huddled up against the wall near a large ventilation system.  There were angry voices around them, the mutterings of a crowd close to revolt. Spock could see the same careful determination on Jim’s face that he displayed when faced with a particularly difficult problem.  The boy’s gaze flicked over the faces of the adults in the crowd, moving carefully to the dark shadows gathered outside the room, visible through the windows. Spock could see men in military apparel who seemed to be holding weapons.  The scene shimmered and crystallized.   There was the sound of breaking glass and Spock watched the younger Jim’s eyes widen as he realized what the mercenaries had done.

The container seemed to summersault slowly through the air, each rotation sending more of the bright blue gas into the room.  There were two more crashes of breaking glass they pitched in two more containers.  The gas rose quickly to the ceiling and floated down towards the crowd, becoming denser as it did so.

People finally started to give in to the terror as those closest to the containers began to die.  They watched as their faces exploded in red as capillaries in their eyes, nose, and throat all seemed to burst at the same time.  Others tried to cover their mouths and break for the windows, where they were shot without fanfare by the soldiers standing guard outside.  Spock could smell the sharp, pungent stink of hundreds of people as they started to panic, trying to rush to the exits, trampling others in their way as they desperately tried to leave.

Spock’s gaze was riveted on Jim, who yanked the girl to him, trying to protect her with his body, pulling her sweater so that it was over her face.  “Amiee! Come on… come on!!!” He pulled her sharply, and even over the sound of the crowd’s frantic panic the sound of her wrist breaking could be clearly heard. 

The older Jim moaned at the sound, face losing what little color it had as he watched the events unfolding around him.

The girl started to wail as she stumbled towards the teenaged Jim, holding her wrist and already starting to cough.  Jim herded her closer to the wall with his body as he started to pry under the grate that covered the ventilator. The metal sliced his hands, but Jim worked quickly, holding his breath as much as he could as his gaze darted over Aimee’s panicked, coughing face.  

“Mama! Mama!!” Aimee had seen someone in the crowd and was struggling against Jim, who was trying to push her against the wall and open the ventilator grate simultaneously.  His blue eyes streamed as he tried to repress coughing, but he was able to get the grate open.

“Come on… come ON!” he gasped. Jim moved to boost her up to the grate, but the girl twisted sharply, still screaming for her mother, unaware that both her nostrils were bleeding as death began to claim her.  Jim was unable to maintain his bloody grip, and the girl disappeared into the crowd.  He had time for one frenzied glance over his shoulder as the girl was crushed to death, blonde hair streaked with bright blossoms of blood as her skull was pulverized.   Spock watched as Jim, starting now to cough as his aching lungs gasped for air, jumped up into the ventilation grate and began crawling away.

The scene disappeared with an abruptness that was startling.

Jim stood with his head bowed, breathing heavily. “She was my cousin. I couldn’t save…. she wouldn’t…” He took a shaky breath. “I tried not to remember the screaming and the smell. I was in that ventilator shaft for what seemed like forever- moving as quickly as I could, afraid that if I stopped they would find me…”

Spock was at a loss of what to say.

The flicker of memory gave a hiccup and stutter as though responding to Jim’s chaotic thoughts.

“I was so hungry. There was nothing on the planet but bark and plants and stuff. I had tried to break into some of the colonist’s homes…”

Jim, looking dirty and desperate, on his knees searching in the cabinet of what looked to be a kitchen. The cruel cuts on his fingers from the metal grate had scabbed over and looked to be healing. He found a package of something and devoured it, almost choking in his haste. So intent was he that he failed to notice the two hands reaching for him.  Spock found himself tensing, ready to yell a warning at the young boy.

Jim’s head snapped up, and the moldy, green object he was eating slithered out of his mouth and onto his torn, filthy shirt. His scream barely had time to form before the large black-tinged hand came around his mouth, jerking his legs and face backward into a large body at the same time. 

“Lookie what we found here…” Jim froze instinctively in the other man’s arms, as though he thought if he didn’t move then the predator holding him wouldn’t notice his presence.

The man spoke in a series of harsh alien syllables, relying on the universal translator to convey his point. It did with chilling efficiency. Then Jim was being thrown onto the floor in front of three other large humanoid beings. They were vaguely reptilian in appearance, built solidly and heavy with muscle.  Jim looked very young and exquisitely small as he lay crouched on the torn floor, eyes enormous with fear as they darted from one man to the next. 

“Don’t be afraid, pretty one…” The sickening smell of his breath and the knowledge in his eyes as he reached for the boy, hand dropping his weapon in his haste as he reached for his trousers.

Spock became aware of his hands balled into fists as he watched. His eyes narrowed and the men were on the boy, holding him down, pinning him to the dirty floor while they took turns, the grunts of satisfaction and the wet slapping sound of skin on skin obscenely loud in the small space.

The young boy didn’t say a word. His face a mask of stoic indifference, Jim lay there, not even fighting as the three took their turns.

Jim didn’t say a word when the last pulled out from behind him, forcing him to turn around.

Jim didn’t say a word when his mouth was pried open.

The grunts and small sounds filled the room. As with the other memory, all senses were involved; Spock could smell the musky scent of semen and the sharp tint of copper. It was a sick smell.  Spock could see something cold flash in the boy’s eyes, and he could see the small frame tense, each muscle drawing up and freezing into itself.  

Jim waited until the man was close to orgasm before reaching for the discarded weapon, pulling it into play with reflexes that seemed almost inhumanly quick.  His captor’s face exploded in an orange mess, blood and gore dripping loudly in the silent room.  The younger Jim reached up to his mouth, wiping it with a shaking hand, quickly pulling up his trousers with the other hand.  There was a footstep and a bark of sound in the doorway, and Jim had turned and fired before the other two beings could even get their weapons into position.

The scene abruptly went dark, dissolving into nothingness with a suddenness that was startling. 

Spock could hear Jim’s louder-than-normal heartbeat.  A broken sounding laugh cut through the silence. “That wasn’t even the worst part. You should see what I did later.”  Jim took a step away from him, turning away to wipe his face on his tunic. “Well.  You probably will.”

Once again, the scene changed.  Spock’s eyes widened to see Jim, dressed in a clean shirt and trousers, stashing food as quickly as he could in a small knapsack.  Jim was still painfully thin, the cheekbones of his face standing out in sharp relief.  There was the heavy step of a booted foot in the corridor behind him, and Spock was utterly astounded to see Jim’s face change. Instead of the fear or hatred he expected, Jim’s face slid into an expression of sexual awareness, even expectation.  The lips twisted into a smirk as he looked back over his shoulder at the man who had walked into the room. 

“Governor Kodos... Sir...”  

Jim turned and walked over to the man, who stood staring at the boy. He wasn’t particularly tall but had an unmistakable aura of menace about him.  Kodos reached out almost absently and grabbed Jim’s head, pulling him closer by his hair, possessiveness obvious in his actions. It bespoke of gestures done countless times.    Spock was sickened to see how even as Jim performed for the man, he was careful to keep his attention away from the knapsack that still bulged with food.

The next scene showed Jim running through the darkness back to the cave Spock had seen before, giving the food to the younger boys he had clearly decided were in his care.

“Enough.”   Spock didn’t mean to speak.

Jim laughed again, somewhat wildly.  “Yeah. Enough would be good.  I haven’t thought about this in years.  One of the psychotherapists was Betazoid, and taught me how to block certain memories.   God, I forgot how….”  Jim trailed off, rubbing his hand over his face. “It’s okay, Spock, I can feel your disgust. I’m not mad.  It’s understandable.”

Spock slammed his shields shut, appalled at himself. Where was his control?  He seemed to have no emotional center. The tenuous bond seemed to seesaw in and out of his consciousness, giving him occasional insights into what Jim was feeling interspersed with complete blankness.  “You are mistaken.  There is no shame in any of your actions here.”

Jim seemed resigned and waved away Spock’s protests. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. Why shouldn’t you be here reliving some of the most humiliating things I’ve ever experienced? That totally makes sense. This is how the universe works for Jim T. Kirk. Let’s get this over with so I can get back to my ship, and get you the fuck out of my head.”

Spock’s lips tightened. It was fortunate that he had not been completely forthright with Jim about the state of their bond. Indeed, breaking the connection seemed the only acceptable course of action given the captain’s utter repugnance for the idea of Spock being ‘in his head.’ 

“Jim.” His voice seemed rougher than normal.  “Whatever emotion you’re ‘feeling’ from my reaction is likely an echo of your own emotional state. I assure you I am not here to judge you. I am your… friend. It is only logical that I will be here to support you when you need it.”

Jim’s short burst of laughter was harsh.  “My friend. We’re not friends, Spock. Friendship can’t be built on someone manipulating someone else.”

Spock’s neck turned so quickly that he strained one of the tendons. Jim stood there with his arms folded over his chest, blue eyes narrowed slightly. Spock could clearly feel some sort of blockage in his throat. He had to clear it twice before he could speak, but before he could do so the scene changed again.

Jim, speaking, eyes seeming startlingly blue in his face, pale in the reflected firelight.  “Your destiny can wait! He won’t believe me, only you can explain w—“His voice rough with shock, eyes still wet with tears.

“Under no circumstances can he be made are of my existence. You must promise me this.” His alternate self’s voice was cold with determination.

“You’re telling me I can’t tell you I’m following your own orders? Why not? What happens?”

“Trust me. Above all. Jim, this is the one rule you cannot break. To stop Nero, you alone must take command of your ship.”

Jim snorts, disbelieving. “How, over your dead body?”

Spock is astounded, although, by this point, logic would dictate that he shouldn’t be, by the slight tone of amusement as his other self spoke. Preferably not.  The Ambassador’s tone changed again, becoming steely with determination, trying to impress upon the young man the direness of the situation “There is, however, Starfleet Regulation 619.  Yes… I forget what little regard you had for such matters. 619 states that any commanding officer who s emotionally compromised by the mission at hand… must resign said command.”

“So I need to emotionally compromise you?”

“Jim. I just lost my planet. I can tell you, I am emotionally compromised. What you must do is get me to show it.”

Then,

“What is it like? Not to feel? Anger. Or heartbreak?  Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?! You must not feel anything! It must not even compute for you! You must not loved her at all…..”

Spock watched the scene unfold again as though he were merely an observer, seeing the pure fury on his face, watching as his fingers closed around Jim’s neck, tightening slowly… harder and harder as though with each tense of muscle he could burn the words from his memory.

“I’m sorry.”

Spock met the younger man’s gaze, echoes of the remembered rage swimming in the depths of his eyes.  He watched Jim, shoulders slumped and neck bowed in front of him and was absolutely astounded at the realization that Jim equated that moment… a few minutes of calculated desperation geared towards quickly getting Jim the results he needed… with the events of his childhood on Tarsus IV.

“You have no reason to be sorry. While I was not aware of the events leading up to your assuming the role of captain, I did understand the necessity behind it. There is no fault here.” Spock struggled to keep his emotions, still so raw after everything he’d experienced thus far out of his mental ‘voice’.

Jim moved so that he was standing in front of Spock. His hand came out as though he wanted to grab his First’s arm, but the motion was awkward, arm dropping back to his side uncompleted. “But what I said! God, I was just so pissed off, and confused, and blown away by what he showed me in that mind…thing. It was like I knew exactly what buttons to push to make you go crazy, but fuck, Spock. That was horrible. It was a… dishonorable thing to say. And untrue.”   He reached out and rested for a moment on the back of Spock’s hand, briefly. “I am so sorry,” he whispered shakily.

Spock closed his eyes at the electric spark of awareness. He could feel Jim’s emotions again, dispairdisgustanguishhumialtion and his first instinct was to disentangle himself from the whirlpool of emotion. He jerked his hand away from Jim’s touch, purposefully moving his gaze so that he wouldn’t have to see Jim’s reaction.

“I repeat, Capt… Jim. There is no fault here. To use a colloquialism, you did what you had to do.” 

Jim moved away from Spock, pacing angrily as he struggled to process the quickness of events.  He was holding onto his temples, rubbing as though he had a headache. Spock could hear him muttering to himself under his breath, but couldn’t discern what he was saying. Spock found his hands going naturally behind his back, body straightening into the comfortable parade rest as was his usual custom while he waited for his captain to work through his inner turmoil.

“Okay. I get it now . Whatever happened on the Enterprise has to be related to whatever my mind is running in glorious Technicolored syndication.”

“Syndication, sir?”

“Never mind. Stay with me here. So, I need to remember who… and what happened. No problem. I can do that. I think.” Jim waved his hands as though directing a particularly complicated orchestra. “Okay, brain. Show me your worst. I’ve got people to do… places to see…” 

Spock was familiar enough with Jim’s tone of self-deprecation that he didn’t take his words seriously. This time when the scene formed it was instantly familiar.  Jim’s captain’s quarters, lights low enough to show the illuminated 3D chessboard. Jim was slumped in the chair he normally sat in, focusing on the board with almost single-minded determination, fingers steepled into a point under his chin.  The man sitting opposite of him was not himself, as Spock had initially thought when he saw the blue uniform, but . . . Doctor McCoy.

Spock was completely unprepared for the burst of emotion that surged through his body. He did not like the visual of the other man sitting in the chair he normally used when playing chess with Jim after shift. “Damnit Jim, what are you waiting for? Some of us actually have things to do on this damn ship.”

There was a grunt from Jim’s side of the table.

The doctor rolled his eyes, looking around at the mess of the cabin. “Wow, it never ceases to amaze me just how much of a slob you really are. Does your place look like this when you have Kermit over for… whatever it is that you guys do here?”

“Quit calling him that, Bones.”   Jim’s lips twitched in amusement.  “We just play chess.”

A purely wicked look flitted over the doctor’s features. “And of course by ‘playing chess’ you mean….” The doctor was all but laughing outright as he stared at Jim’s sudden flushed face.

“Ahh. Wait. I remember this now. I think I need to sort of speed ahead to when I left my quarters.”  Jim spoke quickly. The scene went black as though all the lights had suddenly winked out.

Spock absolutely refused to acknowledge the fact that a muscle in his jaw twitched repetitively.

“I think I’ve got the hang of this now. Lemme see if this works. ” The moments from Jim’s memory flashed forward quickly:

-dematerializing in the middle of the almost  empty  corridor, blinded, unable to see the face of the young person who had hit him on the back of the head, stunning him immobile, his reflexes too slow to prevent the incapacitating hypospray--

-- his shock at seeing Thomas, his friend now fully grown, tortured to death in front of him, his own body bowing in agony as they crushed the bones in his wrists—

--chained in the belly of some stinking ship, hands hanging onto the metal cuffs for some sort of support while his body was split apart from the man thrusting into him, recognizing the face as an older version of his most horrifying nightmares,  just wanting everything to end--

--knowing he was helpless and welcoming death as an end from the unending pain—

--the sickening, shameful feeling of hope as he opened one eye, realizing that Spock’s startled face was his salvation—

The scenes flipped from one to another as though a holograph had started to skip from a malfunction, images solid for mere moments before fading into the next volley before being plunged into blackness once again.

When Jim spoke it was absolutely devoid of any emotion, face frozen into an absolute mask of cold indifference.  Spock could not feel any emotion from the feeble tie between them.

“Kodos is… alive?”

 

_______________________________

 

Spock’s eyes opened and he came back into himself with a quick gasp of breath. He flexed his fingers and moved his hand from Jim's face. He shut his eyes, sorting through the memories, setting them into some kind of order in his mind so that he would later be able to catalog each response when he was better able to do so without this inconvenient emotional chaos.

He heard a small whisper of sound from behind him and turned his head.  His counterpart stood there, patiently waiting, eyebrow raised in silent inquiry.  Spock nodded, exhausted.

“And do you still wish that your bond be severed?”

Let’s get this over with so I can get back to my ship, and get you the fuck out of my head.   Spock nodded, holding his counterpart’s gaze for a moment before breaking eye contact, looking down at Jim, who still seemed deeply asleep despite the small beads of sweat on his forehead.  “The captain has made his feelings very clear.”

“Indeed?”

Spock did not reply.

“As you wish. I will perform the Breaking. It is my understanding that you do not wish for our father to know the particulars of your folly. It would be best to accomplish this task now before Jim awakens.”

Spock flinched minutely. “Yes.” 

The Ambassador moved once again to his previous position on Jim’s other side. He expected the older man would bring Jim into the meld first and was surprised when he was drawn in first instead.  The sensual slide of his own mind against his… a bright spark of apology...and…

“Sleep.”

Spock slept.

**

He eased the younger version of himself back onto the small pallet, pleased at the sight of the slightly olive complexion against the skin of Jim’s healthy golden—although still slightly pale—skin. Jim made a small noise at the back of his throat and turned slightly so that his shoulders were touching that of his bond mate's.  The sight arrested the elder Spock, and he stood staring down at the two for quite some time, indecisive. Coming to a decision, he reached out.

He could not deny the satisfaction he felt by once again sinking into Jim’s mind. The earlier chaos had smoothed out, although parts were still wickedly raw. He gently manipulated images and memories so that when Jim woke he wouldn’t be incapacitated by what he had seen. They would of course still be there but locked away well enough that remembering wouldn’t compromise his other duties. 

He then focused on his younger counterpart, observing, ferreting out the answers to questions the younger man did not know how to articulate, or even understand. The conclusions reached simply strengthened his resolve.  It was fascinating to be able to see all of the different facets of this ruthlessly logical mind. In his own time, he had struggled continuously against giving into to his Human side until Jim had laughingly pulled him into mutual respect, friendship, and love so encompassing that it could not be denied.

 Nero had changed all of that for Spock’s counterpart.  Emotional responses came quickly to the surface, though they were rarely displayed.  Their father’s simple declaration of his love for his wife had caused such chaos in Spock’s thoughts that the elder Spock was shocked at his ability to cope. He had struggled so hard to embrace his Vulcan half that hearing that had been its own form of torture. If his fully Vulcan father could love…

Emotion/logic, Human/Vulcan. The constant need to choose one or the other, the sense that one must be superior, and never knowing how to find a peaceful balance between the two.  Indeed, never knowing if it was even possible. Spock did not envy his younger self’s journey. Truths he himself had learned much later in life were forced upon him at such a young age by the actions of one madman who was willing to destroy billions for his revenge.

His younger self had many gaping holes in the education of his Vulcan mind.  Spock felt a quick burst of anger at his counterpart’s teachers. Bias was illogical. Spock had come into contact with this particular emotion countless times in his adventures on the Enterprise, and it never failed to astound him at how quickly it came into play, regardless of the species. But for these Vulcan educators, whose greatest gift was to cultivate young minds, to perpetuate this feeling of disgust for something the younger Spock had no control over was … highly disquieting.  Because of this bias, this unreasonable disgust of Spock’s humanity, he had never been properly taught some of the particulars of melding with another mind. And never made aware of these discrepancies.  

Seething, Spock quickly put the training he would need in his mind, ready to access whenever needed, for if ever there was a certainty in the universe it was that this young man would eventually be asking questions. Perhaps his younger self had made a mistake. Perhaps he had just been too emotionally invested in Jim to be able to maintain the separation of self required for a mind-meld. An ‘accidental’ bonding was not unheard of, but extremely rare.

To sever a bond that was so strong without physical contact, existing without being properly consummated would be… illogical. Their bond burned between them, pulsing as though awaiting acknowledgment. Spock manipulated this too, forcing it into the back of their awareness so that they would be unaware of its existence.

Until it was time.

***

Stardate: 2259.63 

Jim was blissfully warm. Almost too warm. His eyes slowly blinked open, the unfamiliar ceiling slowly coming into focus. It looked as though it had been sculpted from dusky marble, the low light in the room glinting off of slight imperfections in the stone.  His eyes drifted lazily shut again.

With consciousness came awareness; Jim wasn’t alone in the bed. Whoever was next to him was breathing the slow, deep, even breaths of sleep.  He couldn’t tell if they were male or female, and was horribly confused for a moment.  Normally when he woke up next to someone and didn’t remember how they got there, there was the murky memory of the maniacal consumption of alcohol or at the very least a pounding headache or nauseous stomach warring with the reek of sex in the room. Not so this time. He was clothed. He could feel their heat behind him, although they weren’t touching.  And Jim felt… amazing.

He stretched, making a small sound in the back of his throat as he did so, a sort of stuttering, sleepy yawn. Some of his joints popped, and he thought ruefully that he was definitely way too young to be creaking like that. He felt as though he had just had an extremely peaceful nap after an even more pleasant vacation. His mom would have called him “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed” in that wry way she had.

The breathing next to him paused for a moment as the other person woke up, exhaling on a whoooosh of sound. They must have been facing the same way he was because he could feel the breath hot against the back of his neck. Jim shivered. He could feel the other person’s sudden tension, then the bed dipped and they got up.

Jim stretched again, rolling into the heat still clinging to the bedclothes, yawning hugely. He kept his eyes shut, enjoying the lassitude.

“Captain.”

Jim’s eyes snapped open as he looked up at his First Officer.  Spock had, for a moment, the strangest look on his face before his pale features smoothed into their normal impassivity.

Okay, waking up in bed with Spock was not what he had anticipated. Perversely, he found his cheeks heating in a sudden blush.  He popped up quickly, tugging down his shirt that had ridden up just slightly. 

“Ah, uh.. good… morning?” He threw his legs over the side of the pallet and stood up, surprised at the sudden onslaught of dizziness. Jim shook his head. “Where are we?”

“In my father’s home. On New Vulcan.”

Jim blinked and remembered.

“Your … mind. We are in your mind.  Well, parts of us are. We are physically on New Vulcan in one of my father’s sleeping chambers. You have been… ill.”

 

“Oh.”  Jim sat down heavily on the bed again as his legs gave out.  He was all at once completely disgusted, horribly embarrassed, and sick with remembering everything that had happened.  His stomach felt like it was going to explode through his esophagus. “Can I… can I have a moment, Spock? Alone?” Jim’s voice was strangled as he put his finger to his temple like he was trying to push the sudden bright burst of pain from his head.

Spock didn’t speak, but he left the room. The door made a soft “click” behind him as it shut, the sound making Jim smile despite the maelstrom of his emotions. It wasn’t often he heard that anymore. Most doors were computerized. The sound was one he remembered from his childhood in Iowa, in the old farmhouse that his mother refused to update.

Jim groaned, resting his head in his hands.

This was horrible.  He felt bombarded by the remembered sensation.  He forced himself to take a deep breath and was surprised as some of the feelings faded.  It was still bad, but not... unbearable. What he was feeling was nothing like the numbness of those first few weeks after being rescued from Tarsus IV, or the exquisite skin-crawling-off-his-bones feeling when he woke himself up from a nightmare, the echo of his cry still ringing in his small bedroom at the farmhouse.  Jim felt. . . well, not quite like an impartial observer, but certainly one who could step back from the rawness of the past few days.

When he had gone through command training, several of his lectures had been on the expectations of the tortures often inherent when captured by an enemy.  While sitting there, lounged in the classroom, the idea of taking strength from the simple fact of repeating your name, rank, and ship’s identification had seemed asinine.  Jim had a vivid memory of incurring the wrath of the Commander giving the lecture when he snorted under his breath at a couple of key points. 

He owed the man a fruit basket or something.

The repetition had kept him grounded while on the enemy ship.   Each time he could say the words, whether it was through clenched teeth, or a gasping moan of agony, it was its own retribution. A small defiance in the face of his tormentor.  He had felt so very afraid (and boy was that uncomfortable to admit, even to himself) when he had first seen Kodos smirking at him. He hadn’t seen the older man, but the younger, virile, and exquisitely cruel phantom of his nightmares. At first, everything that made him James Kirk had slithered away, leaving a petrified child in its place. 

And then he got angry. That anger had kept him focused, as well. Every repetition of James Tiberius Kirk- Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise, SC937-0176CEC somehow proved to himself who he was. Each word had called up an image of his ship, his crew, confirming every damn thing he had accomplished to get to be the youngest Starship Captain in Starfleet’s history.

True, he still was ashamed. Jim was honest enough with himself to admit that part of that would probably never go away. But he had dealt with it as a kid, and was… well, mostly… confident that he could handle any lingering results from his experiences.  True again, that it had been downright horrifying to have Spock as a witness to his worst memories.  Of all people, Spock would have been the most affected. . But hadn’t Spock gone through the same thing?  Jim could see in his mind’s eye the look on Spock’s face after losing his mother, hand still outstretched in entreaty, watching the lights of her aborted transport fade away into obscurity.

That look had haunted his dreams, too.

Jim sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face, and stood up.  He was starving. His bladder felt like a Ga’ha’r spongebeast that had been left in a rainstorm.   His mouth tasted like something had died, been reincarnated, then burned and killed again.  He had a million different questions he wanted answered.

It was time to go.

***

Spock hadn’t gone far, Jim found.  He gave a sharp jerk of his head at Jim’s inquiring look and soon the two were walking in sync as they had done countless times before on the Enterprise.  “Dr. McCoy would like you to contact him as soon as you are able.”

“I just bet he does.” Jim’s smile was wry. “He’s probably twitching out of his skin about now.”

They had not walked all that far before reaching a larger chamber. It looked like more of a receiving room, and Sarek and Ambassador Spock seated near a small alcove, speaking quietly.  The other men both looked up at their entrance before moving to stand.

“Jim. I am pleased to see you looking better.”

“I’m pleased to be looking better, old friend.” The endearment slipped out without Jim thinking about it. He could sense Spock stiffen suddenly, like an animal who had just sensed danger.  “Also, I’m thrilled that the universe doesn’t seem to be exploding at you two being in the same room, acknowledging each other.”

He didn’t imagine the flicker of a smile on the old man’s face. “Have you eaten?”

“Nope. I think I can take care of all of that when I’m back on my ship. I did want to thank you for your help. I don’t… remember much of what happened, but I do know that Spock wouldn’t have taken me here unless you had both agreed to it.  Thank you too, sir, for your hospitality.” He inclined his head towards Sarek who, looking aloof from the conversation, nodded politely back.

“The debt was owed.”

Jim felt the familiar guilt assuage him. “Ah, with all due respect, sir your people have no debt to me. I truly thank you for your help, but anything else is unnecessary.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, wincing at the awkwardness of the conversation.

“Indeed.” Sarek’s right eyebrow twitched slightly, which Jim took to mean the Vulcan equivalent of ‘yeah, right.’ Or possibly ‘go fuck yourself, I’ll do what I want’.  Vulcans- the textbook definition of enigmatic.  

“Well, thank you. Spock, are you about ready to go?” 

“Yes, Captain.”

Jim took a few steps back to give Spock some privacy and took out his communicator.  “Kirk to Enterprise.  Two to beam up at my mark.”

“K-eh—keptin! It is wery, wery good to hear your woice. Aye! Ah, I mean... yes sir. On your mark.”

Jim had to grin. Chekov sounded like he was about to wet himself. He waited for a moment, standing out of earshot while Spock spoke quietly with his father and his other-self.

And fuck it all, if that wasn’t just weird seeing them side by side.

Jim watched as they finished their conversation and found himself strangely reluctant to meet Spock’s eyes as his First Officer walked towards him. “I am ready, Captain.”

So much for calling him, Jim. Jim tried not to sigh as he flipped his communicator again.

“Enterprise. Two to beam up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jim gave the Ambassador a little wave, which seemed to amuse him as the transporter began to send them to the ship. Then the split instant of nothingness and all of a sudden light and he was blinking at the familiar transporter room.

“ My God Jim.”  He barely had time to blink before Bones was running a tricorder over him, practically pushing Spock aside in his haste. Jim stifled a grin and clapped his friend on the shoulder.  Chekov was practically vibrating in place, somewhat like a puppy wagging its tail so hard it couldn’t sit properly.  Before things could get out of hand, Jim raised one hand for silence and spoke.

“Chekov, can you handle calling a meeting of all the bridge officers for me?  I’ll need you and Scotty there too. I know we’re just about at shift change, so it can wait until then.”  Bones swooped in with something that looked suspiciously like a hypospray. “Bones go stick someone else with that damn thing. You’ll have to wait to get your filthy hands all over me.  I’ve got captainy things to do.  Spock, you’re with me.”

Jim stepped off the transporter pad and started to leave. He paused, thinking.  “Actually, Spock there’s something you can do for me. I need you to take the transporters offline. I want this ship on lockdown.”

Spock’s normally unflappable features looked a tad bit … flapped …at the randomness of the order.

Jim fucking loved doing that to him. 

“Yes, Captain.”

“Catch up with me later. I’ll be in my quarters.”

Jim walked off, feeling like he had a purpose. Bones, not one to be deterred for long, scrambled along behind him. “Listen one damn minute. You can’t just blow this off!”  He waved the tricorder in emphasis, and it beeped distressingly as though being forcibly kept from a warm and fuzzy place. Jim gave it a dirty look. He could hear the undercurrent of worry in Bones’ normally curmudgeonly tones. He sighed and stopped for a minute, not particularly eager to have this conversation in the middle of a damn corridor.

Bones reached out to grasp his forearm, mouth working as he started to splutter his objections. It was a gesture both of them had done to the other hundreds of times.

Jim froze. “Let go of me.”

The hiss surprised him with its intensity. He shut his eyes at the look of shock on Bones’ face. All at once, he wasn’t all right, the pleasant buzz of taking back his command fading in a swirl of inexplicable fear.  He forced himself to take a deep breath, realizing that Bones had let go of him as though burned.

“I… I know.” He started off haltingly, forcing words out through his suddenly tight throat. “I know you must feel... I just…have something to do first.”

He could hear Bones breathing harshly and knew what it was costing him to not give in to the questions he must have.

“I’m okay. You’ll have to just trust me until I…” His heart was beating so fast he felt like it was sucking out the air in his space around him, growing and lodging in his throat until he thought he would--

“Captain.”

Inexplicably, Jim felt some of his tension abate at the clipped interruption. It was too much. Opening his eyes, he turned on his heel and didn’t look either of them in the face as he walked towards the turbo-lift.  He felt like a coward for being relieved when the doors swooshed shut behind him, giving him blessed space and the sweet obscurity of white noise in order to try to collect his thoughts.  Oh fuck. Oh damn and bloody fuck. I don’t have time for this now. He rested for just a moment against the wall of the lift, raising one shaky hand to cover his eyes.

When the doors swooshed open again Jim only had the strength to look up blankly. Spock stood there for a second, cocked his head minutely to the left, and walked inside.

“Deck seven.”

Oh great. He hadn’t even started the damn turbolift.  He half expected Bones to come parachuting in from the Jefferies tube, hollering about psychoanalysis and relieving him of his duty.

“Are you well, Captain?”

Was he? His heart was still pounding, skin covered with a light sheen of sweat. “I just… I need… I need to be accomplishing something.”

“Did the doctor say something to upset you?”

“No, of course not. I just overreacted to something stupid.”  The turbolift’s speaker gave a little cheep of sound, indicating that they were at their destination. Jim visibly pulled himself together and took a deep breath. “When I was taken, they knocked me out with something. It was someone who works on this ship, Spock.”

Jim, staring at the floor, missed the way that Spock’s eyes narrowed.

 “Who?” The syllable is cold and tight with suppressed fury.

“Ah, that’s the tricky part. I only saw her for a second before I passed out.” The turbo-lift doors opened and both turned to look at the startled ensign that stood there, eyes jumping between the two senior officers. Jim forced a smile and nodded to the crewmember.  “Ensign. We were just leaving.”

“Yes... sir?”

Jim and Spock walked down the corridor to the captain’s quarters.  Jim sighed as he walked in, enjoying the little rush of ownership he felt when he saw his belongings neatly put away.  The yeoman that kept his quarters neat did a fantastic job.  He glanced around, all at once feeling better. He crossed to one of the chairs in the sitting area and sat.

“Everything is kind of unclear about that. Whatever they hit me with did something to my eyes. Or maybe I had an allergic reaction or something, but whatever it was, it was like looking at things underwater. I remember the pain in my neck and turning to knock the shit out of Bones. But it wasn’t Bones that jabbed me.  I can remember the red uniform and blonde hair, and then nothing. I don't even know if it was a man or a woman.  I woke up on the other ship.”

Spock crossed to the console and started entering data, fingers fairly flying across the keys. “There were fifteen uses of the Enterprise’s transporter device within the last twenty-three days. According to the records, seven crew members beamed off the ship and beamed back.  Captain, you were the abnormality.”

Jim snorted, actually finding that he had to bite his tongue to not say the smartass comment that was bursting to be shared.

“Everyone else was part of the rescue party, either on the planetside away team or on the search and recover mission on the enemy ship. You don’t show up as leaving through the ship’s transporters the first time, but arriving back onto the ship approximately fifteen minutes ago.”

There was a small whistle and his doors slid open.  The small woman that entered was staring down, unfocused on her surroundings.  She walked to the captain’s bed, letting her fingers ghost over the black duvet that was folded crisply onto the mattress.

“Yeoman Karidian.” Jim spoke softly, with pleasure in his voice.

The woman gasped and jumped, spinning to face her captain.

Jim laughed, holding up his hand. “Relax! Wow, you were pretty focused there. Did you miss me?” The flirting was second nature by now and Jim relaxed back into it with a feeling of gratitude.

She simply gaped at him for a moment, seemingly astounded.

“Hey.. it’s okay. I guess the word hasn’t gotten around that I’m back. You’ve done a great job here with keeping up my rooms, Yeoman.”  Using her title seemed to wake her up.

“Yes. Ah... yes sir. It’s great to have you back. I’m so very sorry; I didn’t realize you were here. I can come back later.”

Jim nodded, understanding that his words would make her even more uncomfortable. He was used to his crew suffering through slightly varying degrees of hero-worship and tried to be kind but professional when it happened. 

“Dismissed, and thanks again.”

“Yes sir.”

She walked quickly through the doors, not sparing a glance for Spock who stood staring at her as she left out the door.

“She’s cute, huh? Does a great job. Very organized.”

Spock’s head turned to face him as though doing so caused the tendons in his neck to creak with disuse.

“Captain… where is Yeoman Rand? Who was that woman?”

 

 

_____________________________

Jim stared blankly at Spock. “Yeoman Rand?”

Spock felt odd; as though each muscle in his body was poised for flight. “Yes, Captain. The woman who was just here–I do not know her.”

The way she had lightly run her fingers over Jim’s bedspread had been unprofessional. Logically, being an attractive female, it was likely that she had been one of Jim’s past lovers, and the slightly wistful touch before she had realized they were here could have thus been easily explained.  However, thought Spock was hardly an expert on the complexities of human emotion, even he recognized that the way the woman had left here was suspicious. Her facial features upon seeing Jim and Spock watching her would seem to suggest extreme anxiety. 

“Rand transferred out at the last Starbase. Personal leave. Honeymoon, I think. Yeoman Karidian took over for her, hm. . . I would guess about a month ago.  Why, Spock?” There was tension in Jim’s voice. Spock found himself displeased at the distress that surfaced with the question; the captain suddenly tensed up, looking much like he did when Spock had come upon him and the doctor in the corridor.

“I found her actions curious.”  He saw Jim relax as Spock verbally dismissed the subject. Spock turned again to the computer, fingers flying over the keys as he thought.  He took up the threads of their previous conversation. “It would appear that whoever was responsible for your incapacitation does indeed still remain on the ship.”

“Unless they used something besides our transporters to snag me.”

“Indeed. Erasing their molecular signature through the transporters would also be quite challenging.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean, I could do it.”

Spock turned and looked at him for a moment. “Your mental acuity is not that of a typical human.” Spock could see the slight reddish tinge in the vicinity of Jim’s cheeks and found a strange sense of satisfaction that his words put it there.

 “I just mean that if I can do it, then others might be able to too.”

“I am aware, Captain. In addition, the shift change from Alpha to Beta has occurred. You have an officer meeting momentarily.” He was quite certain that Jim had managed to forget in a short time. “I would understand if you would like me to head the meeting in your stead. Your earlier emotional outburst would seem to indicate that you are not ‘okay’ as you claimed to Dr. McCoy. It would be best if you go to sickbay and allow him to assist you.”

Jim flinched.

“I’m fine. I’ll catch up with Bones later.”

“’ Fine’ is a non-sequitur, captain.  I find myself curious about your definition of the word.  Your earlier actions would indicate a less than an optimal emotional state.”

“Don’t mother-hen me, Spock. I said I’m fine and I meant it. What do you want to know? God, I reek.”  Jim stripped off his outer shirt and tossed it in the general direction of his bed. The undershirt he also flung away. He walked into the bathroom.  “Spock?” The question was muffled while the captain began cleaning his teeth.

Spock found that it took a moment for him to collect the thread of his previous line of inquiry. The way this human approached casual nudity was nothing less than astounding.  “If you and Dr. McCoy are lovers, then why do you not let him comfort you?”

“Whaaat!?”

Jim popped out of the bathroom so fast it looked as though he had been transported.  He was naked to the waist, holding a wet towel, and seemed to have been in the process of washing his body. Most of his chest was still damp. He was staring at Spock with an expression of shock that even Spock could clearly read.  Spock turned back to the computer, busying himself. Nyota had claimed that he needed to work on something called ‘segueing’ into conversational queries.  Perhaps she did have a point.

“It has been my observation that human lovers tend to provide emotional support to one another. Indeed, it is clear that you and the doctor are quite close. I am just curious why you did not allow him to try to comfort you.”

Jim opened his mouth, started to speak, and then closed it once again.  “I can’t believe the younger me showed you that. We were in my head for me to try to get over myself, and you end up with a view of one of the most …” He sighed. “What you saw was a long time ago. And we didn’t actually um... have sex. That night you saw was mostly a combination of alcohol and stupidity. We’re not lovers, Spock.” Jim took the towel and finished wiping the water off of his skin. He disappeared back in the bathroom again, walking rather quickly; face and neck flushed a much darker red. Spock noted idly that this blush did not produce the same emotional reaction in him that the captain’s previous blush had done. Curious.

Spock stifled a sigh. Nyota had also frequently admonished him not to ‘jump to conclusions’ based solely on his logic and observation of human behavior. She claimed that there was no way to properly predict how someone would act in any given situation.  The image of Jim, features clearly in the grip of some emotion, almost running away from Dr. McCoy earlier in the corridor warred with the memory of the impish, childlike version of Jim who had taunted him, causing Spock to speak almost without fully considering his words.

The sexual proclivities of this human should not warrant so much deliberation. He had no logical answer for why he kept going back to the thought.

“Hey, Spock?”

Spock had been so deep in thought that he had not realized that Jim had returned to the room. He was in the process of struggling into the black undershirt of his uniform, voice muffled by the fabric when he spoke. 

“Yes, Captain.”

“Are you planning on telling anyone what you… saw?”

Spock’s eyebrow rose. “I do not believe that the information is mine to share. I am aware that you did not want me there with you, Captain. I am deeply sorry that my mistake made it so I had to witness such deeply personal thoughts. You may be certain that I will not tell any of your subordinates any of the events that have transpired.”

Jim reached out and touched Spock’s arm. As in the meld, there was almost an electric feeling to their touch. Spock could hear Jim’s quick inhalation of air, although he covered his surprise with a smile.  His own heartbeat increased.  For the first time, he allowed himself to question the necessity of having his counterpart break the bond with this man. How was it possible to still have such a physical reaction to a simple touch?

“I didn’t mean that you would go tattling on me.” He bit his lip, looking down for a moment at the floor, and then removed his hand from Spock’s forearm.  When he looked up again he was smiling a little. “I was looking for you for forever in that place. Just wandering around, lost. I was so confused, Spock. I felt scared, and yeah that’s hard to admit to you. But I was so fucking scared that I wouldn’t get out of there. It was the worst feeling.  Then all of a sudden, you were there and I knew I was going to be safe.” Spock found himself holding his breath while Jim spoke.

“One other thing. I really do wish you would call me Jim. You know more about me than anyone. I think it’s permissible to be on a first-name basis.” He smiled again and took a step back, breaking the moment.

Spock watched while Jim walked to the small closet and rummaged inside to find a gold overshirt and found himself wishing that he could properly mediate in order to completely calm his mind. The emotions that this human could provoke in him, often without trying, were occasionally overwhelming.

“Okay. I don’t smell like a week-old corpse now. Let’s go.”

Spock was still slightly bemused as he followed his Captain out of the room.

***

“Captain, it’s so good to have you back!”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. It seems like you guys have been busy while I’ve been on my little vacation.” Jim crossed to his chair and sat down, nodding at everyone seated around the table, striking up a conversation with Sulu who was beaming with delight.

Spock stood at the door for a moment, clutching his hands behind his back. He watched the interplay between the captain and his officers. Everyone had adopted--after much urging on Jim’s part-- relaxed attitudes when interacting while not on duty. Here in the conference room, that attitude was even more informal. It reminded Spock of the almost giddy feeling Academy cadets seemed to experience--at least the young, human ones--after completing their exams.  They were all exhibiting postures that indicated how happy they were to have their captain back, their shoulders rounded as they conversed quietly with each other, body language calm and relaxed. Spock walked in, noting idly that as he sat down, spines seemed to straighten and grins seemed to, well not disappear exactly, but certainly become more restrained.

“Thank you all for coming. I have a feeling we have a lot to discuss.”

Uhura snorted, throwing Jim a speaking glance. While the two had never become particularly close towards each other, their professional relationship had grown enough that they were no longer communicating through sarcasm and rolled eyes. Spock found this much more satisfactory.  Clearly, it was more logical to have a bridge crew that respected and liked each other.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Jim sighed, and for a moment while running a nervous hand through his hair, the confident, cocky image he projected cracked a little.

“Captain. Per Commander Spock’s request, Lieutenant Sulu and I went over the other ship very carefully. I dinnae know what he was hopin’ tae find, but we do have more information than we did previously.” Scott was spinning his chair from left to right. He caught Spock’s gaze and straightened, immediately ceasing all extraneous movement.

“Great job recovering the ship..”

“Aye. There was nothin’ really of value on board. Memory banks hae been wiped prior tae the self-destruct sequence. And I do mean ‘wiped’. Daft bastards made sure nothin’ could be salvaged. Most of the equipment had been gutted and burned. . Quite annoying, that was. I still hae the pieces o’ course. I maebbe able to discover something else, but right now that’s fairly much a dead end.” 

“We dinnae-“  Sulu gave Scotty a dirty look.  “Did. Not.  Know for certain who pirated the ship, but its registry was listed as missing during a raid near the neutral zone seven standard months ago.” There were some stifled grins around the table. Spock looked around at the amusement on his companion’s faces. It was only logical for people who spent a large amount of time together to start emulating the speaking patterns of their cohorts.  He failed to see why this was humorous.

Dr. McCoy picked up the thread of the conversation. “We recovered the body found on the ship.” Kirk stiffened.  “I informed Starfleet of the medically relevant details.”

Spock could see Jim’s hand curl into a fist from where it rested on the arm of his chair. “I... I forgot about Thomas. God.”  He bowed his head for a moment, rubbing his temple with his right hand.  When he spoke, the words were soft, as though he was not aware that he was speaking out loud. “I’ll have to tell his wife.”

“I can do it for you, Jim. If you need me to.” McCoy also spoke softly. Spock found that he didn’t care for the unprofessional way the doctor angled his body towards the captain, as though he were about to reach out to touch him.

Spock shifted in his seat, his leg brushing briefly against the captain’s. Spock felt the same jolt of awareness again Jim sat up, hand falling away from his head. “No, Bones. It’s my duty. I’ll be fine.” and found that for a moment he wasn’t focusing on the doctor’s words. 

“Thomas Leighton. I don’t think I need to go into particular details on his injuries. I’ve submitted my report, and any of y’all can access it.  He and Ensign Reed were the only two casualties found on the ship. The device that killed the Ensign was set to kill anyone who disrupted a certain pocket of energy particles that had been distributed over the transporter. Spock, you were damn lucky you moved in time. That was a pretty nasty little booby trap they set up.”

“So, he left me there to die.”

“The level of complexity does suggest a formidable enemy, Jim.”

Jim’s shoulders straightened against the back of his chair. His blinding smile at Spock’s informality caused a strange feeling in the region of Spock’s chest.  He idly noted that it had been 2.5 days since he had partaken of sustenance. Perhaps he was hungry. 

“Each step of their plan was meticulously planned,” Spock went on.  “The Klingon ship was stolen and later modified for use. The planet, which we confirmed had no signs of sentient life, was chosen because of the electric field’s disruptive abilities.  Your communicator was found on the planet’s surface. Had the enemy vessel’s self destruct sequence been completed we would likely still be searching for you on that planet.”

“So how did you know to come to the ship?”

“Ensign Chekov had located two life forms on the ship’s surface. He found the information before the science officer stationed on bridge duty.” Spock did not arbitrarily compliment people, but he found the young genius to be exceptionally receptive to praise.  Indeed, at his words, the young human smiled brightly, then immediately sobered as though told some dreadful news. Spock noted that to his left, Lieutenant Uhura covered her smile with her hand.

“If the Ensign had not made that discovery you would not have been found.” Spock found the prospect of that highly unacceptable.  “We made preparations to beam down to the surface and learned that the electronic disturbance cycled through a short window of approximately six minutes. By the time we detected the pattern, the window had already passed. It took us another cycle to beam down to the planet’s surface, whereupon the away team discovered that you were not on the planet.”

“Then, what? You just found me?”

“Not exactly. I searched the ship for the lifeform indicated on the tricorder. I located where you were being held prisoner, released you from your bindings, and was able to repair some of the navigation equipment. I contacted the Enterprise, and we were beamed aboard.”

Jim moved his elbows to the surface of the table, resting his lips on his steepled fingers as he thought.  He stood up, pacing back and forth in a flurry of motion. They were all used to the captain having such a reaction, as though he had kept himself unmoving for as long as he could absolutely stand before practically erupting with energy, mumbling under his breath as he paced.

“So. Questions. How’d I get off the ship? That’s the biggest fucking case of mutiny I’ve ever heard of. When I catch whoever did this I’ll maroon their ass on Delta Vega and see how they like becoming lunch for that red lobstery thing. So I remember that fucker Kodos.  Have to assume that he’s going after Kevin and the rest, or why would me n’ Tommy be on the same ship?  Why now? Why after all this time?” He stopped moving and whirled to face Spock.  “What does Starfleet say about this?”

Spock found every pair of eyes suddenly on him with varying degrees of intensity.

“Starfleet did not seem to feel that your recovery was of paramount importance. I did not concur.  I believe regulations state that you must take action against me for my insubordination in captaining the ship to New Vulcan for your recovery.”

Jim stopped pacing. He turned to look at Spock, sitting at the head of the table.

“Bad Vulcan. No cookie.”  He shook his finger and grinned.

Spock’s lips twitched.

“After you were returned to the ship, Spock brought all of us in here and showed communication between him and Admiral Pike. We were told to mind our own business. The Commander made it clear that he was interested in finding this Kodos person. We agreed with him, sir.” Sulu leaned forward, tapping one finger on the table’s surface as though emphasizing his point.

“You guys can’t possibly…”

“We can and we will, keptin. There is a saying in my homeland. The wengeful willian who wages war without walor will not be wictorious .” 

There was silence. Spock noted that Dr. McCoy, Lieutenants Uhura, and Sulu along with Commander Scott looked to be studying the grain in the wooden conference table. Carefully.  Jim was clearly biting the inside of his cheek.

 Interesting.

“Ah, thanks Chekov. That means a lot to me. But, I won’t let anyone do anything that will mar their Starfleet record.”

“Captain, if I can ask, you mentioned ‘catching them’. Who were you talking about?” Sulu titled his head, looking directly at the captain as he continued to pace around the room.

Jim flopped down in his chair. “I’ll have to get back to you guys on that one. I think Spock is gonna have to read my mind again to figure it out.”

Spock sat up straight. “I beg your pardon, Captain?”

“I was thinking you could do another one of those meld-y things. It’s so frustrating. It’s like I can see who attacked me… but I just can’t make out their features.”

“I do not know if that would be wise. I would need several hours of meditation before I could attempt such a thing again.”

Jim was quiet for a moment.  “Okay. Well, thanks for catching me up, folks. Why don’t we break today and see what we can find out? I have to contact Starfleet anyway. That should be fun. Bones, do you still have any of that whiskey you smuggled off that Romulan freighter?”

“Smuggle! I did no such thing. I won that fair and square.”

“Whatever. Bring it. I have a feeling I’m going to need some after this. Spock, we okay to meet tomorrow? Will that give you enough time?”

“That should be sufficient.”

“Alright. That’s a wrap, guys. Try not to have too much fun without me.”

Spock stood and pushed in his chair. He could see that Nyota wanted to speak with him, but the prospect of being so casually asked to meld with his captain had, to use the human vernacular, thrown him for a loop. He desperately wanted to be alone. He needed to center himself, to calm this chaotic mass of emotion before he was once again compromised.  He made his way to his quarters.

“Lights down 40 percent.” Mindful of his earlier physical reaction, Spock crossed over to his replicator and ordered a salad of a mix of Terran and Vulcan vegetables. He ate mechanically, quickly doing so for the nutrition he needed to be able to center his katra during the energy expelled during mediation. Similarly, he drank a light Androian fruit drink he was quite fond of so that he would not be dehydrated after his meditation.

He then crossed into the bathroom, stripping off his uniform and stepping into the sonic shower.  He heard a muffled thud and what sounded like a laugh over the sound of the sonics from the other side of the bulkhead.  Spock’s eyes closed of their own accord as he listened to the sounds in the other berth. Jim. And the doctor.

Both his and the captain’s quarters were mirrors of one another, partially separated by the shared bathroom with the rest of their quarters separated by a bulkhead. There were two doors that opened on either side of the small bathroom, each mechanized so that the door wouldn’t open if someone was in there without a specific override.  To be heard so clearly Jim and the doctor had to be sitting near the eating area, quite possibly sharing an alcoholic beverage. Not for the first time, Spock wondered what it would be like to partake in that particular human ritual.  He stepped out of the bathroom and walked naked to his closet, dressing quickly in one of the few Vulcan mediation robes he owned.

He lit the candle. It was a familiar scent, calming, and bittersweet at the same time.  His mother had once told him that smell was the sense Humans most associated most with memory. Spock had found that his candles- made from a particular version of Vulcan sage and Terran lavender, with the spicier scents of sandalwood and musk mixed throughout-- allowed Spock to decrease the muscle tension with every deep, steady breath he took.  He shut his eyes, relaxing each muscle, preparing to go into a meditative trance, almost desperate for the cold unattachment his shields provided.  His breathing became steadier, slowing past the normal Vulcan respiration and into--

A burst of laughter from Jim’s room caused Spock’s eyes to pop open. His breath caught, sharp and staccato as he sucked in a gasp of air. The bulkhead was thin enough that he could discern murmurs of sound, but not actual words. A low grinding sound. He was appalled to realize that he was clenching his teeth at the interruption. 

Spock began his breathing exercises again, determined to relax enough to properly mediate. His breathing slowed. Calm, quiet blackness. Time often had no meaning during meditation. His training allowed him to go as deep as he wished, relying on his inner sense of time to rouse him if he were needed.  Spock assumed his regular rhythms and patterns, sorting through information in his brain as it came to the forefront of his subconscious. 

Jim Kirk. The fleeting thought summoned memories of his time in Jim’s psyche. A flash of blue eyes. The barrage of information, the sharing of memory, had been so far out of his realm of experience that he had refused to think about everything he had witnessed. 

Worse, he was once again emotionally compromised.  The guilt at bonding with Jim--even accidentally--and then breaking that bond, was like some sinister thing, ready to spring on him at any moment.  To break something that had the potential for such beauty was sickening.  Spock could clearly remember the incandescence of his counterpart’s bond. His own had been tenuous. Weak. Unformed, unconsummated, but with the potential for such exquisite joy. 

And he had had it terminated.

He was deeply disturbed to find that he could still pick up faint strains of what Jim was feeling. That shouldn’t happen at all with a psi-null if he wasn’t physically touching him. Spock could detect a sense of calmness, of relaxed camaraderie from Jim. There was no denying that it ‘felt’ like Jim; even his brief foray into the other man’s mind had left Spock with a clear understanding of what Jim’s mind felt like. This echo of understanding didn’t distract Spock from his meditative state, however. It was a whisper; a low buzz of occasional feeling.  He was able to turn his thoughts even more deeply inward, sorting through the events of the past few days, building and solidifying his personal shields. Ideas and theories, speculation and hypotheticals were made and discarded until—

The scream brought him out of his trance. There was a loud thud against the bulkhead, and Spock was up and moving towards the bathroom without making the conscious decision to move. He barked the override to allow him into Jim’s room and came up short, staring, robe swirling around his legs as he froze.

Jim was huddled in on himself, holding up a hand as though to ward off a blow. His long frame was folded so that his face was on his knees, hidden by one of his forearms. The residual echo from the broken bond pulsed with terror. Broken cries were muffled, yet still horribly loud in the otherwise silent room.

Spock observed that the doctor was in the process of slowly backing away from his friend.

“What have you done?”

 

_______________________________________

 

Jim’s mouth was open, face pressed against his knees. He could hear nothing but his frantic heartbeat echoing in his ears. His chest burned.  It was though his throat had closed with this strength of his shock. His neck muscles trembled with the pressure of pushing, his face against his knees lip splitting against his uniform leg.  The taste of blood filled his mouth. Dimly, over the sound of his heartbeat, he became aware of other sounds in the room.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make his lungs work well enough to actually draw in oxygen.  

“Goddamnit man, I didn’t do anything! He was sitting on his bed reading a message and suddenly jumped up and threw the damn PADD across-“

He tuned out the frantic words, focusing instead on the sound of feet moving against the carpeted floor. Jim became aware of a blast of heat, the scent of something spicy that reminded him of the desert. Someone… Spock. SafeSpocksafewon’thurtsafeSpock Jim leaned almost imperceptibly towards the new source of heat like a plant searching for the sun.

“Jim.”

Jim felt himself tense at the sudden sound.  He took a shaky breath, and then another, listening to his heartbeat become less panicked. Slowly he relaxed his neck muscles, moving so his mouth was just resting on his knee. He realized his lip was throbbing.

“Neither the doctor or I mean you any harm. I am going to touch you in a comforting manner. Do not be alarmed.”

Even though panic was a tight ball of nausea in his stomach, Jim’s lips twitched at that. He nodded into his legs. He felt the higher temperature of Spock’s own body heat as he gently touched Jim’s shoulder. 

Fucking stupid. Cowering in the corner… it was a picture just a picture it’s over.

He felt Spock jerk his hand away. The contact, brief though it was, made Jim suck in his breath, the skin of his shoulder suddenly cold. Jim forced himself to look up. He slowly unclenched his body. He forced a breath, and then another, hearing a high-pitched whistle as moisture caught in his throat.

“Jim.” Bones sounded so relieved. The sound made his eyes tear up in reaction. Shame and guilt warred for space within him.

“I--”

Bones knelt on his other side. He swore under his breath and pulled Jim into a hug. Jim’s arm flopped a little, brushing up against Spock. He became aware of something strong, dark- a feeling? Impression?- and it was cut off abruptly as Spock stood with one fluid movement, walking towards the broken PADD near the table.  Bones clutched him for a moment longer before breaking off and standing, grunting when his bones creaked as he stood. 

Jim made his careful way to his bed, where he lay down, idly wiping the blood off of his face. His mind was carefully blank. Bones was watching him carefully.

Jim sighed. “Bones. It was just a panic attack. Surely you haven’t forgotten the joys of me making an ass out of myself. Pretty entertaining, huh?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” He crossed his arms, biting off the words through clenched teeth. He jerked his gaze towards the broken piece of equipment.“What the fuck, Jim?”

Jim was watching Spock as he stood stiffly with his back to them. The robe that he wore was cut widely around the neck, showing Spock’s collarbone and the ridges of his vertebra as his neck bowed.  Jim didn’t think he had ever seen the other man- Vulcan?- wearing anything other than a uniform. It made him look softer somehow. Jim could hear the sound the robe made as it slid against Spock’s skin as he bent over to retrieve the device and holy loving Christ what the hell was he thinking?

“Clearly you saw something on this that was disagreeable.” He turned around with an inquiring look.  Jim couldn’t meet his eyes. He had. Oh, god he had.

“I wish to see this missive.”

Jim sighed. “No, you don’t, Spock. I wish I hadn’t seen it either.”  Spock’s eyebrow raised just a little, the only bit of movement in his pale face. 

“Jim. You know I can’t release you for duty if this is going on.”At ‘this’, Bones waved his hands around as though indicating the whole room.

“Yeah.”

“I’m tempted to give you something to knock you out. At least then I’d know you’ve slept.”

“Thanks, Mom. Spock, seriously. Leave it alone. That’s an order.”

Spock, who had been punching in a key sequence hastily stopped, looking up over the small PADD. Jim could see his mouth tighten into a small frown.

Jim looked back at him, his eyes flicking down over the robe and back up to Spock’s face. The garment was absolutely beautiful. Most Vulcan artifacts were simple and unadorned, but this one was long and flowing. There was a small section of silver stitched into the front of the robe, replete with various Vulcan symbols. The threads shimmered in the low lights.  Spock, seeming to just now realize that he was not dressed in his regulation Starfleet uniform, set The PADD down on the table, and turned, walking back towards the bathroom. 

“I will leave you to the doctor’s ministrations while I go and change into something more appropriate.”

“’Kay. And thanks Spock. That was the second time you’ve helped me today. I really appreciate it. I’ll contact Pike and see what needs to be done.”  Spock paused for a moment before resuming his measured stride back into his own quarters.

“The second time?” Jim felt the bed dip as his friend perched on the edge. He heard the hum of the medical tricorder and tried not to roll his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Jim, these readings are all over the place.”

“Awesome.” He was exhausted. He didn’t remember panic attacks leaving him so wrecked afterward.  “I can’t believe I still have to talk to Starfleet about all this. I mean, we’re just hanging out here over New Vulcan. It’s only been a couple of hours since we beamed back.”

“Well, to be fair you have had a lot of your mind. Literally. I don’t know what sort of Vulcan voodoo they did down there, but it seems like it’s changed some of your mental signatures. The patterns aren’t damaged exactly, but different. Stronger, but… Damn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a psychiatrist! I had something like six months of psychiatric training at the beginning of my career, even before we met on that shuttle. I have half a mind to insist we go back to that Starbase so I can have you checked out.”

“What Starbase?”  Jim’s eyes, which had lazily drifted shut, popped open again.  Bones had finished one pass with the tricorder and started back up the length of his body.

“Oh, we were en route before we found you. That damn disease. It just made me want to make sure that we were fully aware of its sympt-“ Bones stopped and winced.

“What do you mean, disease?” Jim was completely baffled.

“Ehh, shit.”

Jim looked at his friend, who was staring over his head, looking troubled.

“Bones.”  Bones usually ignored that tone when he used it with him. This time he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Jim felt something in him shiver as the door to his bathroom slid open. Spock was there, dressed impeccably with his hands clasped behind his back.

“When you were taken off the ship, something was injected into the ship’s ventilation ship. Something microbial. It… it was pretty bad. It took out most of the crew for several days.” He sighed and Jim braced himself for what was coming. “Seventeen people died. It didn’t work like anything I’d seen before. Each separate symptom needed its own cure.”

“And what, you just forget to tell me? Goddamnit Bones! ” Jim sprung up from the bed and started pacing around his quarters again. He saw the abandoned PADD on the table and scooped it up, throwing it as hard as he could against the wall. The sound of glass breaking was loud in the quiet room.  “What the hell else haven’t you told me?” He remembered he was barefoot right before he kicked the broken glass. Instead, he turned and threw himself down into one of the chairs, seething.

“Captain.”

Jim wasn’t sure what Spock saw in his face when he snapped his neck around to meet his gaze, but it caused him to shift very slightly. 

“How do you forget to mention something that killed seventeen of my people?” Jim’s voice was tight with anger. He refused to show any other emotion. These two had already gotten all the emotion they were going to get out of him for today.

“As you are well aware, Captain, my memory is eidetic. I do not ‘forget’. I judged that this information would best be expressed semi-privately due to the 99.6 likelihood that you would be emotionally compromised by the details of the disease. I admit that I had not anticipated Dr. McCoy sharing this information until you were cleared for duty. Clearly, there are nuances to Human doctor/patient relationships that I do not understand.”

Bones glared at Spock, lips twisting in a smirk. “Clearly.” He bit out. 

Jim held up a hand. “So, not only did I get kidnapped and go a little crazy, my ship was attacked. Starfleet is probably dicking around with all the PR and red tape from Tommy’s death. Still, I need to tell them…” His voice trailed off as he continued his thought. “Let’s back up. I need to contact Starfleet before I do anything else. If you two can behave you can stay here. Otherwise, split.”

“As Acting Captain until you are medically cleared, it would be most logical for me to remain while you contact your superior officers.”

“Fine. Bones?”

“I need to add the latest funky brain readings to your illustrious medical file.” He waved the tricorder significantly. “You two kids try not to have too much fun.” His grin was wry but at least it was a grin. Jim knew how he hated to deal with ‘bureaucratic bullshit’, preferring instead the relative solitude of his office or the ordered chaos of sickbay. The fact that he was leaving him with Spock just proved that either he trusted that Jim wouldn’t fall apart again, or that he was in for a physical so complete Bones would be able to predict the next time that he would sneeze.

“’Funky ‘ brain readings?” Spock’s voice was clipped.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. He thinks it was just a side effect of some of the stuff that happened when you went in after me.” Jim tapped his temple with his finger. “Well, let’s get this over with. Then maybe you can do your mind-meld thing again and tell me who I’m supposed to be looking for so that I can kick their ass.”

Spock seemed frozen for a moment.

“Spock?” Jim cocked his head. His heart rate was still high enough from his earlier burst of anger that his face was still flushed. Between that and the panic attack, he was pretty damn sure he was ready for a nap. The euphoria he’d felt when he woke up on New Vulcan a few hours ago had dissipated completely.

Spock had moved to the side; out of direct range of the video screen but still able to hear.   Uhura was off-duty at this hour, so Jim punched in his communication data himself, waiting patiently while the subspace call was placed and answered.  Jim spun around in his chair while he waited.  He caught a glance of Spock, who was staring at him as though he were a particularly interesting physics formula.

“Spock? Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

“I could not possibly hope to answer that with any accuracy, given the statistical certainty that somewhere in the universe something is ‘wrong’, Jim.”

Jim couldn’t help the slightly goofy smile at hearing his name from Spock’s lips. He remembered that his lip had been split while he sat in the corner about this time and winced, licking at his lip. Spock was so stuffy; it was so hard for him to be informal. The fact that he was trying meant a lot to Jim, hence the goofy smile. 

There was a beep, signifying the Admiral was available.

“Captain Kirk.”

“Admiral Pike.”

“Goddamn, son it’s good to see you.” Pike smiled. 

“It’s good to be seen. You know that I wouldn’t have been if Spock hadn’t found me.”

“Yes. I read his report.”

Jim sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well?”

Pike sighed, smile draining away from his face.  “Well, I have some good news for you. It’s not perfect, but it will be better than nothing, and you better be damn grateful that I managed to arrange it.”

Jim didn’t say anything.

“Kevin Riley is working as a medical researcher on Starbase 11. Erica Molson is a stage performer, last seen on Wrigley. Your orders are to find and escort them back to Earth.”

“My orders? Gee, Admiral. I haven’t even been cleared for duty yet.” Jim was fighting to keep his face blank. Kevin and Erica. He hadn’t seen either of them since he was thirteen years old. Even hearing their names caused his heart to speed up. He felt his skin start to sweat. His throat started to close. Oh no oh nonono. Not again. He couldn’t do this now, not now not-

“Admiral, what of the criminal Kodos?” Spock moved into the frame, brushing against Jim briefly in passing.  The quick touch was like a burst of adrenaline, clearing Jim’s head and allowing him to think clearly again.  He took a deep breath, trying to hide how shaky it was.

“We have no information on him at this time. We do not even know if it was he that-“

“It was.” The words broke from his throat, as though fighting for life through broken glass.  “It was him.”

“Jim, you were tortured. For days. I… understand what your mind goes through in a time like that. The crazy things you remember. Starfleet regulations are clear. You know we can’t corroborate your statement without additional evidence.”

Jim felt like he had been punched. His face must have reflected his shock because the Admiral spoke again.

“Jim. We need evidence. You have your orders. I am sure you’ll be back on duty in no time. You always have had a way of getting things done over and above expectations. Pike out.”

Jim found himself staring at the monitor for a full minute. Spock had stiffened beside him.

“Jim, the inflection in Admiral Pike’s voice would seem to indicate that he has just ordered us to go against our official orders. I find myself unsure that this is the wisest course of action.”

“Yeah.  ‘He needs evidence.’ We just have to get him that evidence.”  He tapped his communicator.

“Kirk to Helm.  Plot a course for Wrigley. Warp five.”

There was an awkward silence. Jim rolled his eyes.  “Spock.”

“Assume the course, helmsman.”

“Yes, sir.”  The poor guy sounded relieved. Truth be told, Jim had reacted without actually realizing that he wasn’t technically a captain at the moment.  He put his head on his hands.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered. “God, I’m tired.” The movement brought his shoulder against Spock’s torso. He cracked open one eye. “Okay, I can write off the first couple of times as coincidence, but what the hell is that? Every time we touch I feel like someone just goosed me.”

“Captain, I fail to understand the correlation between Terran avian species and your reaction to touching me.”

Jim bit his lip to keep from laughing, then yelped a little when it stung. “Ah, it’s an expression. I mean, when we touch there’s a surprising ... link. Between us.”

Spock took a step back and walked over to the eating area, taking his normal spot in front of the chessboard.  “I believe what we are experiencing is a residual effect of a… connection.”

“From you being in my head? You mean, from that mistake…thingy?” Jim wasn’t sure exactly how to put it in words.

“Affirmative.”  Spock sounded as cold as he did during his Kobyashi trial.

Jim turned in his chair fully, observing his First Officer. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Is this like the meld the Ambassador and I did? Why am I not linked to him? I mean, you can’t read my thoughts when we touch, can you?”

Spock’s eyelid twitched in a way that Jim took to mean he was growing agitated. “You are aware that I am a touch telepath.”

Jim nodded. His eyes grew wide. “You mean, every time that I’ve touched you, you could read my thoughts?!”

“Before our …link, yes. Only through skin-to-skin contact. I could ascertain a glimmer of what you were thinking, especially if you were directing your thoughts to me at the time. In the past four point three hours, I have observed that I can pick up some of your more overwhelming emotions without skin contact, as evidenced when you were becoming emotionally distressed when speaking with the Admiral. My counterpart has likely attempted several melds in the course of his life and would not have miscalculated.”

“You mean I was your test run?”

Spock didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Jim stared at Spock for a moment...

“Can I touch you?” The words slipped out before Jim could properly think about them.  He leaned forward a little and held up his hand.

Spock looked appalled; skin flushing in light green. “That gesture would not be appropriate.” Jim was confused. Spock looked like he had just propositioned him or something.

 Spock sat across from him at the table, seated with his back straight, hands lightly resting on his legs, no different from the other hundreds of times Jim had seen Spock sit that way. Acting on instinct, Jim reached out and touched the back of Spock’s wrist with a finger.  Immediately, he felt better, as though the chaos of his thoughts had gone through a filter.  Jim tried to get a handle on everything he was feeling, not wanting to make Spock uncomfortable again. He shut his eyes in concentration.

“Do I have your permission to join our minds?” Spock’s question seemed muffled in the quiet room, yet it caused Jim’s breath to catch.  He nodded, still with his eyes closed. Jim didn’t know what the hell was going on in his life, but when this happened, each and every time, he came out of it with some knowledge.

“My mind to your mind.” Jim could feel the fingers of Spock’s hand slide against his face. He found himself leaning forward just a tiny amount, leaning into their connection.

“My thoughts to your thoughts.”

The world slid away, and all he was aware of was Spock, like some burning sun in a pit of darkness. He knew what he wanted and went for it. Jim found himself fumbling mentally, unable to really muster any sort of defense against Spock’s mind. He found himself unable to even think in words. There was no landscape this time, no emotional transference or visualization of memory.

Jim relived his incapacitation again, Spock watching the memory over and over, slowing it down and speeding past other parts, looking for some kind of clue.  It was impossible. Jim’s allergic reaction had muddled his senses; the sight was blurry, with no sense of smell or taste. A feeling of nausea, a glimpse of a red uniform and the suggestion of medium-length blonde hair. A glimpse of human-looking hands. The body was slight, but nothing indicated whether his pursuer was female or male. Jim tended to think male since he wasn’t exactly a lightweight, and it would have required some physicality if Jim had managed to fight back. There was a bright glint of bluish light as the portable transporter glinted in the corridor. It landed on Jim’s chest with a soft thud. Then the feeling of panic, confusion, and darkness as he transported.

Jim took the mental equivalent of a breath of relief, thinking that this was done, but felt Spock’s mind again.  A feeling of curiosity. The mental image of Jim throwing the PADD against the wall in a shocking display of emotion. Jim scrambled mentally, trying to pull away.

He gasped, eyes flying open as they came out of the meld. Spock’s gaze bored into him with such a storm of intensity in his brown eyes that Jim couldn’t begin to actually decipher what Spock’s eyes were telling him before the other man was pulling away, putting distance between them.

“Ah, thanks. For stopping I mean.”

“I find your insistence on maintaining distance in this manner unpleasing and completely illogical.”

Jim grinned a little at Spock’s prissiness.

“Tough.”

He got up and crossed to the replicator, getting a coffee for himself and a Vulcan tea for Spock. It was a gesture he had done hundreds of times during their chess matches, yet Spock seemed mildly startled when Jim set the mug beside his elbow on the table.  He took a drink. It came in such a small dose that Spock drank it in one swallow as one would do with a shot. Usually, the sight made him inwardly smile. Jim lounged against the bulkhead as he drank, thinking. 

“So, nothing helpful in my memory then. The ship’s still on lockdown. How are we supposed to complete our mission with a traitor on board? I really want this guy nailed to a wall, Spock.”

“I will start by compiling a list of each crew member with light-colored hair, and cross-referencing it with who would have been off duty at that time.”

Jim snorted. “Yeah, assuming that was really their hair. They could have been wearing a wig or could have been totally bald! They could have stolen the uniform…” He broke off, sipping his coffee. The heat felt good against his swollen lip. “Shit. This isn’t going to be easy.”

Spock stood and crossed to the front door of Jim’s quarters, setting the small empty mug by the replicator on his way.

“Hey, wait? Where are you going?”

“I believe that should be obvious…Jim.”

“I have some more questions though. Like, why was that meld different than the other times when I was out of it?” He took another sip of coffee.

Spock tilted his head slightly, looking at Jim as though he had done something mildly fascinating. “In the previous meld, we were bonded.”

Jim choked on the coffee, almost dropping it as he tried to get his body under control. He carefully set the mug on the table near him while he bent over at the waist coughing. “What?”  He was pretty sure his eyes were going to bug out of his head.

“We were bonded together for a short time.”

Jim was still trying to remember how to breathe.  “Wh—wh- what?”

“Was your aural perception damaged in some way, sir?”

“Jim, damn it! Yes! You said you made a mistake, not the Vulcan version of ‘til death do us part! I mean, I’m not exactly an expert on Vulcan cultural rituals, but even we know what a bond is!” Jim stared at Spock, who stood at his customary parade rest, each muscle in his body tensed.

“Indeed.”

“Wait… wait. I thought Vulcan bonds were permanent. Who broke it?”

“My counterpart corrected my miscalculation. As I said, the connection that you feel is just the residual effects of that bond. I hypothesize that it will fade in time.  Please do not be concerned; we are no longer connected permanently.  If there is nothing else, there are several experiments that need my attention before I retire for the night.  I suggest that you get some sleep.”

Jim’s brain seemed to still be stuck.  “Uh… ah. Yeah. Goodnight, Spock. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Indeed. That does seem likely.” Spock left his quarters without another word.

Jim collapsed onto his bed, mind whirling.  There was no way in hell he was going to sleep without trying to put his thoughts into some sort of order. That was one of the tricks that the first slew of counselors had suggested: that he writes about his feelings. As a teenager he had been less than thrilled with keeping what he referred to as a ‘dream journal’, but as an adult, Jim found that it did help to talk out his problems. He did it at least once a day. He smiled, remembering how cold it had been on Delta Vega, and how extremely pissed off he had been.

“Captain’s personal log, Stardate … something. Shit. I should probably know that. Oh well. Dear journal, Today I had a very interesting day.”

He laughed. “I don’t know why I always start my journal like that. I doubt Ms. Malone really intended me to keep on with that way of starting. Or was it Dr. L’eath? Whatever.  So I found out that I got married a few days ago. Me. Married. To Spock! I guess he accidentally bonded us? I’m not really sure how that works. Uhura might know more about it. Although, if I go up to her and casually mention that I accidentally married her boyfriend, she might beat me to death with her ponytail. It surprises me to learn that Spock isn’t infallible. I mean, he always seems so controlled. I guess in Vulcan years he’s still fairly young though. I mean Spock… not my Spock, but the other Spock. Wait, not that he’s my my Spock.” He paused for a few minutes, surprised by the little spurt of … wanting. He shook his head, appalled at himself. Talk about misplaced gratitude. “Anyway, the older Spock doesn’t really seem all that old. But I guess he would have to be over one hundred and fifty standard years. I could ask him I guess. But... it kind of makes me feel like shit. I think it hurts him to see me. Maybe makes him remember his version of me.”

 Jim yawned, rolling off the bed and taking off his clothes. These days he slept in just an old pair of sweats.  He found a pair in his wardrobe and slid them on. (He used to sleep naked until the first time he had been sick and his Yeoman, without knowing he was in bed, had yanked off the covers. Both of them had shrieked like a little girl at a slumber party.  Yeoman Rand had gotten an eyeful, and Jim, with visions of sexual harassment lawsuits dancing in his head, had never gone to bed completely naked again.)  He got back in bed, under the covers.

“Anyway, I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I couldn’t tell Spock. Or Bones, either. It was pretty stupid of me to throw the PADD against the wall like that. Sort of like a kid having a temper tantrum. It was just… seeing poor Tommy. They hurt him so… “He stopped for a moment, trying to speak past the blockage in his throat.

“It’s funny. I’ve spent most of the last part of my life very carefully not thinking about those guys. Tom, Kevin… or even Erica, although she wasn’t in the same situation as we were. She still got off on the shuttle with us. The same bunch of diplomatic hoops.  The same bunch of bullshit. We didn’t want to talk about what happened to us on that fucking planet. Still don’t. And now, somehow He is still alive… and it’s pretty goddamn clear that he’s coming after the five of us. 

“I don’t know who sent that message to me. I was just sitting there, drinking with Bones, same shit we always do after I make it back from some mission or another and he’s done being pissed off that I got hurt. My message station blipped, and I was too lazy to get up to put it on the viewer. Good thing too. Bones would have shit himself if he saw what they sent. So that’s one good thing I’ve managed to do I guess.  Bones tries to be all gruff about stuff like that, but he’s the biggest girl over things sometimes. Like, I could tell he was hurt that I hadn’t told him the details of what happened on Tarsus IV.” 

Jim yawned again, punching his pillow into some sort of comfortable shape. Part of him was hoping that this would allow him to sleep. The other part was afraid that he would start in with the nightmares again. He sighed. 

“I’ll feel better when I know that whoever helped me get off the ship is caught.  I can figure that out as soon as I get some sleep. Goodnight, Journal.”

Jim stretched out on the bed. He lay there for a few minutes, but the exhaustion of the day did eventually catch up with him. When he closed his eyes, he tentatively reached out for that spark that he felt with Spock. It was muted, distant, but there. His brow furrowed as he concentrated. Very dimly, he could sense something comforting; a stroke of cool skin against a fevered brow. He sighed again and slipped into sleep.

 

 

________________________________

 

Stardate: 2264.9

 

The turbolift’s doors wooshed open.  

Spock could feel who was standing there a split-second before the Captain walked out onto his bridge.

“Commander Spock, I am completely thrilled to let you know that your duties as captain of this beautiful lady are no longer required. The good doctor has given me a clean bill of health!”

Spock raised an eyebrow.  Jim’s voice sounded positively gleeful. He had been less than receptive to the three-point-six days of medical leave.  The captain could frequently be seen sparring in the gym, challenging other crew members to various games in the recreational area, sharing meals with his subordinates and generally making it perfectly known that he would rather be back on the bridge. Spock overheard the words “Bones” and “bastard” in several separate conversations.

Jim stood next to his chair, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He made a little “shoo” motion with his hands, and Spock felt his raised eyebrow twitch. Through the residual effects of their broken bond, Spock could faintly feel Jim’s buoyant spirits.  Spock got up and moved to his own science station, relieving the ensign who had been stationed there with a nod of acknowledgment.

Jim sat on his chair and sighed in such a satisfying way, wiggling in the seat as though he was making room, that Spock noticed Lieutenant Uhura had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing outright.

“Lieutenant Sulu, report!”

“We are approximately three hours from Wrigley, sir.”

“Increase warp by two factors.” Jim’s smile was so bright that it seemed to light up the room. Spock noticed how several of the crew members’ own emotions seemed affected by seeing their captain back in control of the Enterprise.  He, naturally, was not susceptible to such emotional occurrences. He just found that a jovial atmosphere on the bridge often resulted in a coherent crew- and a coherent crew performed their duties admirably.

“Yes, sir.”  Even the helmsman’s mood seemed moderately more positive.

Spock turned to his console and began working on several of his own projects that circumstances had forced him to let slide.  Jim’s exuberance was like a small burst of light at the end of a very dark tunnel. Spock was finding it difficult to completely ignore it. He found it quite puzzling that a broken bond would have such a lingering effect.  Jim had actually asked him over a game of chess two nights ago. Spock had found himself somewhat at a loss to answer Jim’s questions. No, he had never heard of this happening before. Yes, logically it was possible that it was a side-effect of his only half-Vulcan physiology. Jim did not seem overly concerned about the loss of privacy. Spock quickly deduced that Jim’s sense of his ex-bondmate’s emotions was not as strong as Spock’s unless there was physical contact. Spock had composed a lengthy missive to his counterpart, asking for advice on the matter, but had yet to receive a response.

Jim was in the middle of a conversation with Ensign Chekov when his console beeped, signifying a message.  Spock happened to look up as Jim took it, and watched his face pale at an alarming rate as he read it. Spock’s gaze met Lieutenant Uhura’s. Her face was quite expressive, surprise indicated by a slight widening of her eyes. Most messages went through her. He made a split-second decision. Clearly, the captain’s well-being was at stake, as evidenced by his sudden pallor.  Spock watched as Jim made an effort to delete the message, stabbing particularly hard at the keys, straightening his spine and his back.  Spock could detect a little flutter of panic in the back of his mind, but Jim showed no outward evidence, instead of staring at a point slightly to the left of Ensign Chekov’s head.

 It was very simple to copy and divert the message to his own secure frequency. Had he not noticed the small occurrence, Spock never would have been able to do such a thing. Unfortunately, Spock had been able to find no trace of the first message that had caused Jim such distress. Whoever had sent it had also programmed a virus into it so that the material was unrecoverable.

The message was simple:

To our own lips. He's here in double trust/ Some say he's mad; others that lesser hate him/ Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes/ 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy.

The picture file that accompanied it was a close-up of part of Jim’s face. His normally bright eyes were dim with terror.  The left side of his face was a mix of purple and yellow from extensive bruising. There were three fingers on his neck; splayed out in a bruising grip as though someone from behind Jim was hanging on to his throat. The fingers were filthy, nails and cuticles ragged and torn.

Spock felt the stylus snap in his fingers. The message started its destructive sequence; Spock stared at blue eyes as they started to fade away, the words also fading into obscurity.  He was purely unprepared for the feeling of possessiveness that burst deep within him. He took a deep breath and looked over to where Jim was still staring out into space. 

Spock felt as though he would hurt something if he stayed at his station for one moment longer. The depth of emotion that he felt was appalling. Even more so was the sharp memory of his own hand wrapped around Jim’s fragile throat as he squeezed. Then, he had someone to react against. Jim had provoked him past endurance, therefore he must be stopped. Simple.  Now, however, Spock found that there was nowhere to direct this sudden surge of rage. He had not often thought of his loss of control on the bridge but seeing that picture had brought the memory back.  Did the captain equate one moment of violence with another? He flexed his hands, forcing them out of the two clenched fists.

 He stood and walked over to Jim’s chair.  “Permission to be excused, captain.” Spock had purposefully stood within Jim’s personal space so that he brushed against the captain’s sprawled leg. At the touch, Jim sat up, shooting him a quick, grateful look before taking a rather shaky breath.  The small jolt from Jim’s feelings was somewhat soothing. Jim was pleased to see him; the little bit of panic dulled.

“No problem Spock. Shift’s over in a few minutes anyway.”

“Indeed.” His voice was clipped. Spock felt an irrational spurt of anger at Jim. If that had been the second message, what had been communicated in the first? It was unthinkable. Spock wanted the privacy of his quarters so he could begin to track down these messages. He turned on one heel and stalked towards the turbolift, fighting to keep his face impassive. 

Once inside his quarters, Spock began a sequence that would continue cross-referencing a possible list of suspects. It had been narrowed down to fifty.  This was subjective in the sense that Jim’s captor could have disguised their hair color or physical features, but it would have been difficult to hide their body type.

He had also initiated a separate ship-wide monitoring system that was hidden under several sub-layers of life-support so that it would not be discovered should anyone else desire to sabotage the Enterprise’s security equipment.  He found it insupportable that the area around the captain’s quarters had not been under continuous surveillance. If the recording devices had gone offline, then he should have been made aware of it immediately. Spock, while not technically in charge of security, still had several department heads report to him daily both as the first officer and acting captain.  He had not been amused to discover such negligence.

To say the least.

He began another sequence to try to trace the messages.  He tapped his monitor. “Lieutenant Uhura.”

“Yes, Commander?”

“I require your presence in my quarters in approximately twelve minutes- when your shift is complete.”

“Ah…yes, sir.”

Spock ended the communication and continued to work, quickly lost in thought.  When the chimes on his door cheeped to indicate that someone was seeking entrance, Spock didn’t hear it the first time.  He had narrowed the list down to thirty- four names.

“Spock?”  Nyota’s voice through the door.

“Enter.”  He finished up rechecking the calculation he was working on and turned in his chair to where she stood, uncertainly shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Nyota. I wish for information. Please be seated.” Spock attempted to modulate his voice. Some of his anger had subsided, but enough bubbled near the surface that Spock knew he must be cautious.

“Yes?” She sat on the bed and looked up at him, tilting her head in question.

“The captain has received two threatening messages to date.”

She blinked, eyes narrowing. “I beg your pardon?”

“I do not know the contents of the first message. The captain was quite distressed. The message was written to self-destruct with a virus so that it was irretrievable once open for a certain amount of time.”

“And the second? On the bridge?”

“Lines from the ancient Earth playwright, William Shakespeare. From Macbeth, I believe. They were not in their original order. Rather, they had been rearranged to form a threat. This was accompanied by a picture of Jim while on the enemy ship.”

His hands tightened in his lap as he recalled the picture of Jim’s eyes, the same feelings of fury and protectiveness overwhelming him for a moment. He fought it down with an effort, focusing on his breathing, uncomfortably aware that Nyota was still watching him. Spock took his duty of protecting the captain very seriously. That someone would purposefully seek to harm him...!

“You’re . . . mad.”

She always was uncommonly perceptive for a human. He opened his mouth to speak but before Spock could answer, his door chime whistled.   “Enter,” he said instead.

The doors whooshed open again to reveal Jim. He walked in with his head down and seemed to catch a glimpse of Nyota on Spock’s bed out of the corner of his eye. Jim’s step faltered and he quickly looked up. His expression, which had looked fairly worried, changed to embarrassment.

“Oh. I’m interrupting. I’d just gotten used to walking on in. Sorry about that. Lieutenant. Commander. I’ll catch you guys later.” His smile looked somewhat less than his usual blinding grin. Before either of them could speak, he had turned on his heel and left. 

Spock found himself tensed to go after Jim. He settled back into his seat. Nyota was still looking at him.  He could feel a slight flutter of embarrassment at the back of his head, and knew that it was not coming from himself. 

“You’re not going after him?” Nyota’s expression turned even more curious.

“That would be unwise. I would likely cause the captain more distress. I find myself highly… agitated over the implications that someone is purposefully trying to harm him.”

“So, basically you need me to help.” She thought for a moment. “I would like to know for sure where the messages came from; through subspace or off of the ship itself.” Nyota stood and crossed to his computer, swinging the console out of his hands. Her fingers fairly flew over the keys as they struggled to keep up with her brain.  Spock found that he was quite pleased with the quiet work environment and soon immersed himself in his own projects, content.

 

**

Jim sat by himself at a table near the back of the recreational area.  He knew he should probably go into his quarters if he was going to mope, but he was pretty sick and tired of hiding in there. It made him feel weak.

And fuck him if he wasn’t sick of feeling weak. 

“You’re looking especially pathetic today.” Bones sat down in the chair across from him, not bothering to ask permission. He plopped a tray down in front of Jim, and one in front of himself.

“Hi, Bones. What the hell is this?”

“Hi yourself. It’s called vegetables. So, the first day back I thought you’d be a little more… smiley. You look like someone just shot your dog.”

“Yeah. I guess. Just tired I think.”

Bones leaned over, tilting Jim’s chin up so that he could look over him.  It was a gesture he’d done hundreds of times.  Jim was pleased that random touches didn’t send him running down the corridor screaming, but it still made his skin feel too tight.

“You don’t look too bad; better than I’d expect actually. Either you’re repressing like a sonuvabitch or…”

Jim gently disengaged from Bones’ grip. “I think it was something they did to me on New Vulcan. Ambassador Salkek was helpful. It’s a really weird feeling. Like, all those emotions- being scared or disgusted... or humiliated are there, but not really there. If you know what I mean.”

“No. I really don’t.”

Jim blew out a breath, trying to explain.  “Okay so imagine your everyday, normal Vulcan.”

“I’d really rather not.” Bones smirked.

“How do you think a Vulcan would look at emotion?” Jim stole a fry off of his friend’s tray.

“Logically?” Bones took a bite of his hamburger, interested despite himself.

“I think so.” He pointed the fry at Bones. “It’s like all that shit is there, just waiting for me to examine it, but I can do it when I want instead of having my memories jump up on me.  It’s like every day things have gotten clearer and clearer.” 

Bones’ gaze narrowed.  “Okay, so why were you sitting there looking like your dog just died?”

“Oh.”

He didn’t want to tell Bones about the three messages he’d received. He knew that Bones would go nuclear if he knew what had been in them. Hell, his head was about to explode. The first one had scared the bejesus out of him, the second had started to piss him off, and the third had just made him sad. He was just so tired of this. After his shift had ended, he had gone to Spock to ask him if he would mind helping him track down who was sending the messages but had walked in on him and Uhura. That had just been embarrassing. He just wanted to talk to the guy, not cockblock him.

“You know… I think when you get back into your normal routine you’ll start feeling better.” Bones took another bite of his burger, then slapped at Jim’s hand when he reached for another one of his fries. “Veg-ta-bles. Eat them. Or you’ll be grounded again.”

“Yeah, well a certain evil bastard I know just recently allowed me to go back to duty.” Jim stared at his tray, vaguely nauseated. He wasn’t sure what the replicator had done to the mess of green... things…on his plate, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t edible. He cautiously tried a green bean, trying not to actually taste it.

“Yeah, well, this evil bastard only had your best interests at--”

“You know, maybe I do need to go back to my normal routine. Get drunk. Get laid.”

“Well, that would just be fucking stupid. You don’t need to get laid after what you just went through, emotional enema or not.”

 Bones was interrupted by Jim’s communicator.

“Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

“Kirk here.”

“Message for you sir. From a Mr. Riley. Kevin Riley.”

Jim felt his heart give a funny little flutter. “I’ll take it here. Thanks.”   Jim saw Bones start to leave, but Jim shook his head at him, reaching out and touching his wrist.  

“Kev?”  The man on the small screen looked willowy and pale. He was small in stature. The eyes were the only thing that Jim recognized. Kevin was only about nineteen years old, but he looked older than Jim, nothing like the little half-starved boy Jim remembered taking care of.

“Hey Jimmy. Jim. Um, Captain Kirk.” Kevin smiled, and all at once, he wasn’t someone so different after all. “I heard that you’re going to come and pick me up with that badass ship of yours.”

“Yeah, something like that. We have a stop to make first. Do you remember Erica?”

“Yeah.  She’s the one that told me you were looking for me. We keep in contact pretty regularly.”

“Oh.” Jim felt the normal spike of guilt that hit him whenever he allowed himself to remember his childhood. How he basically abandoned them.

“Well, I was just about to make your life a little easier. I’m on my way to Wrigley. Maybe ten or so hours out?” There was the sound of another voice giving an affirmative off screen. “Yeah. Anyway. Do you think you’d be interested in maybe meeting up? Maybe dinner with me ‘n Erica?”

“That would be awesome, Kev.  Let me know when you arrive, okay?”

“Okay. And… Jimmy? It’s really good to see you again.”

“Yeah. You too, kid.” Jim smiled at him and signed off.

Bones gave him a minute after he ended the call before jumping back into his previous conversation. “I’m serious Jim. Going back to that right now is a pretty damn fool move.  Last thing you need right now is to be drunk.”

“I don’t know, Bones, I’m thinking it sounds pretty damn good. Maybe arrange for some shore leave for the crew while we’re on Wrigley? Help out with crew morale and all.”

Bones opened his mouth to argue with him, but was interrupted by his own communicator this time. “Dr. McCoy you’re needed in Sick bay.”

“Damnit. Acknowledged.” He leaned forward onto the table. “You better not do anything stupid, kid. I just worry about you. Come see me if you’re feeling particularly like making any idiotic choices, okay?”

Riii-iiight . “Yeah, sure. See ya!”

Bones stalked off. Jim switched their plates and began happily munching on the rest of Bone’s hamburger.  He decided that indeed the crew could definitely use some shore leave. He licked some ketchup off of his finger and quickly gave the orders. During the first month of his captaincy he had arranged a skeleton crew for the Enterprise done on a rotation basis, so that everyone would have a chance to enjoy their shore leave.

“Captain?”  Jim looked up from his task to see Yeoman Karidian standing uncertainly at his table.  He smiled up at her. She blushed. 

“Have a seat.”

“Oh, thank you sir. That’s not necessary. I was just double-checking to see if you needed anything specific in your quarters. I noticed that there was some glass near the eating area a few days ago.”

“Yeah, I uh. Broke something. Sorry about that. I should have cleaned it up. I just got too used to you taking such good care of me. And here, you’re going to be the first to hear the news.” He punched in the code for a ship-wide broadcast into the wall console.

 “This is the captain speaking. My bridge informs me that we will be arriving at the planet Wrigley within the hour.  I’m pleased to announce a ship-wide shore leave. Please access the duty roster for who is on duty first. See your officer in charge if there are any questions.” He grinned at the whoops of delight in the recreation area. Apparently people had not noticed him sitting back in the shadowy corner. “Wrigley is known as a pleasure planet. Feel free to double your pleasure; just don’t bring it back to my ship. Have fun. Kirk out.”

Decision made, Jim grinned even wider up at the Yeoman who was now at least smiling faintly.  “Would you please have a seat? You’re making me strain my neck.”

She sat, blushing a little more. It had been so long since he had had a chance to flirt with anyone that Jim found himself enjoying himself immensely. “Okay, so tell me. How do you like it here on the Enterprise?”

“I, uh. Find it very nice, sir. There is quite a lot to do here.”

“Where were you stationed before the Enterprise?” Jim leaned forward. Her eyes were downcast, but he could see how she was peeking up at him through her lashes. It was rather adorable, actually. Her whole posture had changed, relaxed as she conversed.

“My father is an actor, actually. So was I for awhile. He had to retire rather suddenly and we found ourselves without anything to do. So I joined…”

“Captain.”

Jim was surprised at Spock’s clipped tone. He had left the bridge so quickly that Jim hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to him. By the time he had made it to Spock’s quarters to ask him what had set him off, he and Uhura were… occupied.

“Hey, Spock. What’s up?”

“I desire to speak with you.” Jim winced. Shit. Whatever he had done must be pretty epic. He didn’t know how someone who frequently claimed to have no emotions did it, but Spock sounded pissed.

“Oh. Well, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Spock’s lips tightened. “Very well. I will wait.” His gaze flicked over Yeoman Karidian and back over Jim, managing to make Jim feel like he had been caught doing something rude during class.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Sorry about this Yeoman. Maybe we can continue this some other time. Thanks for your concerns. It was nice to talk to a pretty girl for a little while. Usually I can’t get away from him and Bones.” He smiled again at her and was happy to see her blush at the compliment. 

She nodded.   “Yes, sir. Thank you sir. Have a good night.”

Jim grabbed his tray of untouched vegetables and Bones’ empty tray and dropped it off on the way out of the room.

“I was not aware that you and the Yeoman were dining companions.”

“Yep. So, what did you need?” Jim found himself speeding up a little in order to keep up with Spock’s long strides. He hadn’t realized that it was even possible for a Vulcan’s footsteps to sound pissed.

“I find myself puzzled by your illogical actions.”

Jim blinked. “Really? Can you be more specific?” They paused for a moment in front of the turbolift, standing aside as a few beaming crew members got off before them.

“I find that statement will encompass most of your actions. Deck seven.”

Now wait just a damn minute. Jim hit the control that stopped the lift. “Now wait just a damn minute! What the hell, Spock?” He reached out and grabbed the Vulcan’s arm, trying to turn him towards Jim. It was like hanging onto a particularly stubborn tree. Expecting that Spock would turn, Jim lost his balance, having to take a quick step towards Spock before he fell over. The movement brought them so close that Jim could feel the blast of heat from Spock’s body. He could actually feel how angry Spock was through their connection. Jim forgot that he had actually asked a question for a moment as he stared into Spock’s eyes.  He felt his body start to respond, which was pretty damn unfair. While it was nice to know that he still had a sex drive, this was so not the time. Spock looked like he wanted to throttle him again.

 When Spock finally spoke, Jim could feel each separate puff of air from the words against his lips. "Even in this corner of the galaxy, Captain, two plus two equals four. Almost certainly, an attempt will be made to kill you. Why do you invite death?"

Jim blinked, taking a hasty step back. He let go of Spock’s arm, and was completely astounded when Spock took a step forward, back into Jim’s space. His heart began to beat more quickly as adrenaline surged through his body at Spock’s aggression. Part of his mind was screaming at him that he was stuck in a very small space with an irate Vulcan who was about to become even more emotionally compromised. Part was screaming that if he moved just that much they would be kissing.

“You are not unintelligent. Why would you allow a shore leave when we have not yet caught the person responsible for your kidnapping?”

Oh. Well, fuck.

“Captain, I find that your apathy towards putting yourself in danger by your unending desire to cogitate with your genitalia quite distressing on both a personal and professional level.

 “I. uh…” Did Spock just accuse him of thinking with his dick? But before he could respond with anything more approximating Standard speech, Spock was moving away from him and back to the other side of the turbolift, as though he couldn’t bear to be any closer to the human sharing the small space with him.

“Deck. Seven.” Spock bit out.

Jim tentatively tried to reach out to Spock through their connection, only to find what felt like titanium walls slamming down between him and Spock’s mind, cutting him off completely.  Somehow, that hurt more than Spock’s harsh words. The rest of the lift ride was conducted in silence. Spock left on his deck, walking purposefully towards the science labs. Jim noted, as the turbolift’s doors slid shut, that the other crew members were practically throwing themselves against the bulkhead in order to not be between the stalking Vulcan and his destination.

Fuck .

Jim stood there for a moment, appalled. What was wrong with him? He had been almost ready to jump Spock not three minutes ago. Even more troubling was the sick, lonely feeling he had in his stomach.  Adrift.  All at once he was very vividly reminded of walking alone in his mind, searching for something that had been lost to him. Jim blinked again. Spock had been right, of course.  Jim hadn’t been thinking about his own safety.

Three hours later found Jim in a much better headspace. Getting drunk had never sounded so good. 

He had been unable to contact Erica Molson. He had tried to set up a meeting with her but she had not yet returned his message. Spock had managed to circumvent all of Jim’s attempts to discuss his mistake. Jim couldn’t retract his shore leave without a damn good reason, and the fact that maybe someone from his past might come after him was not good enough.  He had an amazing group of people working with him, and they deserved some time to relax. The last shore leave had been a quick weekend on D’monici III, and cut short by a slight diplomatic incident involving a not-so virginal Clan Chief daughter’s very protective little brother. Actually, that little misunderstanding had been quite embarrassing to explain in his report to Starfleet.

So, Jim found himself beaming down with the rest of his crew, walking the streets until he found himself at a bar that didn’t look too dangerous. He wasn’t in the mood to kick anyone’s ass today. Or have his ass kicked, for that matter.

He darted into the bar and sat in the back. There was some very nice Romulan Ale with his name on it, freedom from disapproving Vulcan first officers, and many pretty women around who, Jim was sure, would be more than willing to help him forget his little reaction towards his First Officer.

Two bars later, he was feeling pretty good.  Especially when he caught the gaze of a familiar face. She wasn’t wearing her Regulations, but had chosen instead something much more feminine. Her blonde hair shone in the dim light of the bar. Jim made his way over to her, watching her out of the corner of his eye, much as he had done with Uhura so many years ago.

“Yeoman Karidian! Are you gonna let me buy that drink for you now?” 

“Captain. How very nice to see you again.” Jim was just buzzed enough that he could appreciate the difference between Yeoman Karidian and the off-duty version. “You left so quickly earlier. We never got to finish our conversation.”

“Aww, I’m sorry. Here, let’s go sit down and we can catch up.” He scanned the crowded bar for a free table. Jim’s mind was thinking about all sorts of things like: ‘contact unbecoming an officer’ and ‘sleeping with a subordinate’ and ‘maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all’ but the alcohol beat those thoughts into submission. He was here, she was interested, and this shouldn’t be that complicated.

“Why don’t you get the table, and I’ll get our drinks.”

Jim nodded and went off. He managed to snag a table before a particularly inebriated Gorncould get its hands on it, glaring at him until it moved off. He never could tell which was female and which was male.

“Here we go!”  She sat down several shots of something lilac in color.  “Drink up.” He did, unable to help the smile that bloomed on his face. Take that Bones. Getting drunk and laid was a damn excellent idea.

“You asked me how I enjoyed the Enterprise.” Her voice fairly purred now. “I do find myself enjoying it very much. On the ship there’s all this power, surging and throbbing. Yet under control. Are you like that, Captain?"

“You really should be calling me Jim.” Something very faint was starting to warn him that there wasn’t something right, that he was forgetting something important, but as the next shot of lilac alcohol slid down his throat the faint thought completely disappeared. “And I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

 

 

_____________________________

 

“Okay, seriously what the hell is your problem?”

“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?”

“Don’t you dare ‘Lieutenant’ me, Commander. We aren’t on duty. I want to know what’s made you so mad.” Nyota sat across from him, eyes narrowed in a glare that he hadn’t seen since he tried to assign her to another ship. Her arms were crossed and her chin was stuck out at such a sharp angle that Spock was privately 76.8 percent certain that she would strain something if it remained in that position for too much longer.

He finished entering his last few keystrokes.

Nyota’s glare became even more pronounced.  Spock found it improbable that one petite human woman could look so foreboding.  He sighed.

“I have several problems at the moment that need my attention. Perhaps this instant isn’t the best time for a discussion.”

She made a sound under her breath. “Spock, are we friends?”

“We have discussed that since we are no longer intimately involved our relationship is now that of friends, yes.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

“I do not understand the question.”

“What does it mean to you, Spock, to have me as a friend?” her voice was quite without emotion, and the strangeness of hearing her speak in this manner caused faint alarm bells to go off in Spock’s head.

“I value your intelligence. And kindness. And our camaraderie over a meal is something I find myself looking forward to after a particularly grueling day.” Spock detected a slight thawing in her body language.

“Thank you. I feel the same way. And I want to help you. But you have to explain for me, Spock, because I don’t understand why fifteen minutes ago you jumped up as though I had poked you and left in the middle of a conversation, only to stalk back in here later looking like you wanted to kill someone. You’ve been sitting there, punching those keys so hard that I know it had to hurt; I remember how sensitive your hands are. And now, you won’t talk to me.” She sighed, and seemed to slump in on herself. “I know you value your privacy, but you’ve been so different these past few weeks. And you keep shutting me out. I just want to help you.” She repeated, blinking hard, suspicious moisture in her eyes.

Spock frowned. It had not been his intention to provoke such an emotional response in Nyota. Friendship was a fairly foreign concept to him- other than Nyota and the recent tentative forays with Jim he had none and hadn’t really minded that fact- but he did not care for the fact that he had upset her.

He reached out and touched the back of her hand with a finger- a Vulcan version of a peck on the cheek.

“My apologies, Nyota. It was not my intention to. . .” he searched for the correct Human term, “. . . hurt your feelings. It is true that you will likely be able to assist me with my current situation. I confess, I have wished to have someone to discuss the matter with, but have not wished to burden you with my own… weakness.”

Nyota smiled, looking down at his hand where it rested near hers. “Okay, so… what’s up?”

Spock paused, gathering his thoughts. “I accidentally bonded with the captain.” Nyota’s eyes grew wide enough that Spock reflected that he possibly should have led up to that revelation.

“You…”

“Indeed. I do not know how I could have made such an error. I believe it happened while I was on the ship with the captain. I initiated a meld with him while he was–” Spock broke off, remembering for a moment the horrific sound emanating from Jim’s throat, echoing off the walls of the ship. “Quite distraught. Later, I had the bond removed.”

“You had the bondremoved?” She sounded more horrified at the idea of the bond’s removal than by the fact that Spock had bonded to Jim in the first place. “But a bond between a Vulcan and their mate is revered. Sacred even. That meeting of minds… why, you would have everything in your mate.” She sounded wistful.

“You are correct, although I confess I am curious to how you came by this knowledge. Humans are not commonly aware of the vital nature of a bond outside of the occasional vague understanding of their existence.”

Nyota bit her lip and looked away from him.

Spock raised an eyebrow. He had taught enough human cadets to know what that particular expression meant.

“Um…”

“Nyota, your hesitation would seem to indicate that you are not planning to be forthright in your verbal response.”

“Well.” She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I was a cadet embarking on a serious relationship with the only Vulcan in Starfleet. I, um, wanted information so I…asked.”

“Who did you ask?” Spock asked the question but was 93.9 percent sure that he already knew the answer.

“I uh... started a communication with... um… your mother.”

Spock opened his jaw to speak, then quite unable to find any words that would adequately express the idea that he wanted to communicate, shut it again with a small ‘pop’.

“I didn’t do it to embarrass you! Or anything else really; I just didn’t want to do something . . . culturally insensitive. I told her that I was doing research for a xenobiology project.” Her lips quirked. “And I was, just not one that I ever got graded on.”

Suddenly a number of queries within the Academy correspondence between him and his mother made much more sense. For a moment he imagined her face as she read his letter, telling her offhandedly about Nyota.  Her amusement barely kept in check when she smiled, the impish twist of her lips, her brown eyes fairly dancing with suppressed mirth while she read both Nyota’s and his messages. As he did, he found that for the first time in just over a standard year he could picture his mother in some way other than at the moment of her death.

Nyota cleared her throat; face softening as she touched his forearm. “Anyway, so yes. I understand what a bond is. But not why you would break such a… gift.”

The timbre of Spock’s voice was roughened when he answered, “Jim said much while we were linked. He was most clear on the point: he did not want anyone in his head.”

Nyota looked furious again. “That, that, insensitive, idiotic… bastard!”

Something twanged in the vicinity of Spock’s heart when he heard her words. “I am quite certain that Jim’s parents had indeed been legally joined in the state of matrimony prior to his birth. It is also… I did not…” It was Spock’s turn to break her gaze and stare at the table.  “I did not tell him of the bond. There was no need, as his feelings were quite clear.”

Spock had been looking away from Nyota, and therefore was absolutely astounded when he felt the sharp sting of her hand on his shoulder.

“Did you just strike me?”

“You were in Jim’s head? After he was kidnapped? We don’t need the specifics Spock; his crew had a pretty good idea what happened to him on that damn ship. So after he is reeling from… that…and you… you didn’t even tell him?!”

Really, his hearing was far superior to that of a human’s. Spock felt it was highly unnecessary for Nyota’s tone to reach quite that high a decibel level. 

Her arms were once again crossed in front of her, only this time her glare was even more pronounced. “I have never heard of a bond being broken before. Are you blaming your little man-tantrum on that?”

Spock blinked.  There was no reason for rudeness. He opened his mouth to answer her, but she shook her head.

“Never mind. Just get on with the story. What does that have to do with you stalking back into here like a particularly grouchy ten-year-old?”

“I have felt residual effects from the bond’s destruction. I can often sense Jim’s emotions when he is feeling something particularly strongly.”

Nyota raised an eyebrow, just staring at him. Spock was beginning to understand how annoying that particular expression was to others when he used it. “A ‘residual effect’, huh?”

“Indeed. I felt Jim when he got the first message. He had what Dr. McCoy referred to as a ‘panic attack’ by whatever was sent to him. Similarly, I have been assisting with discovering who had put Jim on that ship in the first place.  But the captain, who clearly has no respect for his own safety, then announced that the crew of the Enterprise would be allowed to go on shore leave. I desired to find the captain and explain the folly of allowing this without knowing the identity of his attacker.”

She spoke fast. “How is it logical that you can feel a nonexistent bond? If there is no connection, then how do you explain what you were picking up from the captain?”

Spock, who was fully capable of thinking on a number of subjects at once, found his brain slide to a complete halt. That was it, the question he had been skirting around for several days. How could he detect something that should not, could not, be there? Several things slid into place at once.  He remembered his counterpart’s disappointment that he would ask for his bond to be broken.  He remembered the way his counterpart had casually insisted on being the one to do the ‘breaking’. How he had put Spock into a deep sleep before roaming Spock’s unprotected mind.

He was aware that his face must have communicated complete and utter shock by the accompanying gentle, pitying expression on Nyota’s face. Before she could speak, their computer console beeped.

Automatically, they both looked at the readout. The computer had narrowed down the names of the crewmembers that had not been on duty or observed by another crew member, with those who met the physical requirements. Nyota had also cross-referenced the list with those who had shown a particular affinity for computers, based on information from their personnel files. The list now had five names on it. At the top, with a 76.9 probability, was Yeoman Lenore Karidian.

 “Computer. Is Yeoman Karidian aboard the ship?”

“Affirmative. Yeoman Karidian beamed aboard the ship eleven-point-six minutes ago.”

Spock started to rise, almost not feeling the restraining hand Nyota had put on his shoulder.  “Wait. Wait, Spock.”

“What is the logic in waiting?”

Nyota’s hand tightened on his arm. “How can you be certain that it was her? Not to be rude or anything, but you can’t just go in there without some sort of plan. Right now she has no idea that we suspect-“

Spock interrupted. “I do not care for the way she stares at the captain. She had access to his personal belongings. The computer’s findings only confirmed my suspicion. Please stand aside.”

“Just- wait a second!”

Spock jerked his hand out of her grip and pivoted, tapping a wall console as he did so. “Commander Spock to the bridge. Please raise the shields to their full capacity, and lock down all transporter pads to unlock to my voice command only. Do not activate the ship-wide alert system.”

“Uh...understood, sir.”

Spock was already striding down the corridor, Nyota trailing after him. “Wait, Spock! Please!” She sounded so desperate that he stopped, turning to her. “You just can’t go barging in there,” she repeated. “Not alone!”

“Computer, locate Yeoman Karidian.”

“Yeoman Karidian is in her quarters.”

“Location of Yeoman Karidian’s quarters?”

“Yeoman Karidian is located on deck fourteen, berth 27-A.” Nyota nodded at him and they strode to the turbolift. It whooshed open.

“Computer, is the Yeoman alone in her quarters?”

“Affirmative.”

Nyota spoke as the doors shut behind them. “Computer. Is Captain Kirk on board the Enterprise?”

“Negative. Captain Kirk disembarked two hours and twenty-three minutes ago to the surface of Wrigley.”

Spock thought that every muscle in his body, save his pounding heart, froze for a moment before dismissing the illogical hyperbole. Part of him wanted to go to the transporter room immediately, while the other part of him knew it was logical to interrogate Karidian first. He felt Nyota’s hand on his forearm and looked down, having quite forgotten for a moment that he was not alone in the lift.

“We’ll get information from her. You can have a security team start to look for the captain.”

The rest of the lift ride was made in silence while Spock quickly weighed the pros and cons. Spock waited until they were close to the Yeoman’s quarters before summoning Security. “Commander Spock to Security Chief Georges.  Security team A is to beam down and start a planet-wide search for Captain Kirk.” He also ordered the bridge to unlock the transporters so the team could beam down. “Security team B to Yeoman Karidian’s quarters. Remain outside while I speak with the Yeoman.”

“Acknowledged, sir.”

 

Spock strode to the door and entered his override. The doors whooshed open, and he quickly stepped in with Nyota behind him. The woman inside whirled and gave a little scream, eyes darting between himself and Nyota. She had a number of items clutched in her hands. It was clear that she was packing her personal belongings. She began to laugh, setting the items on the bed.

“I suppose, as they say, the jig is up.” She moved her hands so that they were visible. “Father would laugh to know that I got caught for sentimentality. But I couldn’t leave my little trinkets, now could I?”

Spock, against his better judgment, glanced at the items on the bed. A stained, ripped gold Command uniform shirt. A hairbrush.  A framed picture of the same car, one beautiful and shining in the sun and the other destroyed. A broken communicator. Spock heard a low growl, and only realized it was coming from him when Nyota looked away from Karidian for a brief moment. She took a step closer to the other woman.  Away from Spock.

Spock fought to get control of his emotions. He had never quite understood the idiom ‘seeing red with rage’ until just that moment. He had the urge to rip, to tear, to destroy. Even when fighting Jim on the bridge, his emotions had not been stripped quite this raw. Then, he had reacted without thinking. Now, he struggled to keep his hands at his sides and not wrap them around this human woman’s throat.

“Where is Captain Kirk?” Nyota’s voice was cold.

The tittering laugh again, high and girlish. Karidian smirked at Spock, ignoring Nyota as though she were not there. “Your captain. My father was most displeased when I told him of your heroic rescue. He was quite fur—i--ous.” She laughed again. "Come what come may…. Time and the hour runs through the roughest day,” she sing-songed, delighted with herself. “He has his prize now. Only two left. From five to two, five to two…” her voice trailed off as Spock turned back to the bed, scooping up the items with a smooth movement. He desperately needed to have his hands occupied right now.

“Where did you leave Jim?” Spock spoke tightly. This was an illogical waste of time. Clearly the woman would not tell him. He was loathe to connect his mind to this woman’s in any way, but would do it if he must, Starfleet regulations be damned.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out, silly!” The tone of her voice changed again. “Those are my things.” Her voice dropped into a hiss. “You will never find him. My father will take him take-him-take-him, bathe in the sweat from his body, in his blood and his seed and you …will... nevernevernever…”

“You Bitch!”  Spock turned just in time to see Nyota’s fist connect with the insane woman’s jaw, sending her collapsing to the floor, unconscious. She turned, taking a step towards Spock, flexing her fingers a couple of times before placing her hands on his shoulders. He could feel her worry and fear.  It hit him with an almost physical jolt, and he stepped back, clutching Jim’s uniform in his hand. His control was imperfect and the kick of her emotive state was stark. “You have to relax. Calm down, Spock. You found Jim once, and you can do it again. You said he’s in your head.” She actually tried to shake him. “Well use your head, damnit!”

Spock’s eyes closed. He reached out...

…and nothing. No feeling of ‘Jim’ whatsoever. He jerked away from Nyota and stepped through the doors, stalking towards the turbo lift without a word. He could feel a muscle in his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth. Vaguely he could hear her giving orders to the security team stationed out Karidian’s door. He entered the lift.

“Deck seven.” Spock’s attention was so focused inward that he arrived in the transporter room before he knew it. Why couldn’t he feel Jim? It was like there was a wall—

A wall. Of course. He had been so furious at Jim while riding in the turbolift that he had shielded against him. “Beam me to Captain Kirk and Yeoman Karidian’s last known location.” Logically, if she had destroyed Jim’s transporter, she would have done so before moving him to avoid detection.  He strode up to the pad and turned, tearing down his mental shields as he felt the pushpull of the transporter, and reappeared outside of a crowded bar.  As on the ship, Spock was walking towards the bartender without even being fully aware that he was moving.

“I require information. A Human man in a Starfleet uniform- captain’s stripes, blue eyes- was here approximately two and one half standard hours ago. He was likely sitting with a human female out of uniform. Blonde hair.”

There was a chittering sound and Universal Translator translated the bartender’s words into Standard. “Yes. I remember her. She was a big tipper, she was. Loves the Lotus rum. Ordered enough to …” The translator even translated the being’s chuckle. “Heh heh heh, have herself a nice night with the man you described.”

Spock’s eye twitched. Orion Lotus rum had almost become a banned item for its high alcohol content with a fairly powerful aphrodisiac. He looked around at the patrons of the establishment. There was such a mix of different beings in the small dim space that Spock found it difficult to maintain his shields against the insistent pull of emotion. He had just begun to reinforce his mental shields when he felt a slight shiver inside his head; then- an overwhelming wave of abhorrence/want/terror/disgust/fear--

Spock stumbled, thrown completely off-balance by the strength of the mental surge. He leaned against the bar, breathing heavily, hands curled into the wooden surface so strongly that the metal reinforcements groaned. Jim. Frantic- despondent-.

kill-you-kill-MYSELF-ohnoineedaway-away-oh-god-oh-nonoNO

For what felt like hours, but logically could only be seconds, Spock literally couldn’t separate his own sense of self from the pulsating wave of Jim’s emotional turmoil. There was so much, so very many nuances of panic there that Spock’s mind reeled.  As though he were far out of his own body, he realized that the bartender had cocked an eyestalk his way and was waving it concernedly.  The universal translator was indicating that the bartender was asking him something, but Spock found himself afraid to let go of the surface that he grasped. It gave another ominous creak. Spock felt a sharp jab of pain as a large splinter sliced the flesh of his palm.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.  Strangely, the pain from the splinter caused his mind to focus. Dimly, he was able to nod to the bartender.

“Jim--” Spock could only do the equivalent of a mental gasp. He was aware of an almost incapacitating nausea coming from his human, laced underneath with the furious heat of… lust?

Through the bond, Spock could feel Jim’s utter shock, and then the wave of relief crashed over him with almost the same fervor as the fear, making his knees weak. Spock collapsed against the bar again.

Tentative, as though worried it wasn’t true- ‘Spock?’  Then, ‘Spock please you have to help he’s here it’s Him and he--- ‘                                                                                                                                     

‘You must calm yourself, Jim. I will come for you. But you must …’

‘Please-I-pleasehurryhe-‘ The mental feeling of a deep breath. The wave of bright, excruciating emotion receded somewhat. ‘It’s… Kodos. He has me. He…’

‘He will not have you for long. I am coming, Jim.’

Spock took another steadying breath and opened his eyes.  The bartender was helping another customer, but the eyestalk was still turned Spock’s way. Spock let go of the bar’s surface and flexed his fingers. The cut on his palm stung as the air hit the green blood that had welled up from the small wound. 

There was no time. Spock knew he must work fast if he were to find Jim quickly. He shut his eyes, picturing the bond that he remembered from Jim’s head. It was still sick-looking, although more solid than before. The knowledge of what to do was just suddenly there, and with a muttered curse he could see the bond’s aura when he closed his eyes. When they opened, it was as though he could still intuit where the bond was. It stretched, almost gossamer thin. Faintly, Spock could feel Jim at the end of it.  He spun on his heel and was off, doing his best not to think too hard about the pulsating emotions that Jim was still feeling. Spock followed the bond, around corners and through alleyways. He didn’t anticipate it being all that far away. The yeoman would have had to incapacitate Jim and get him to the rendezvous point for her father.

The yeoman. Spock walked faster, almost jogging now, furious with himself. He had not wanted to identify the emotions that had taken over his thoughts. He could still remember what he felt watching her touch his captain’s bedspread-why had that one thing replayed over and over in his brain?- what he felt remembering it afterwards; how no amount of meditation had claimed his thoughts.  He had over-thought his own illogical behavior, not seeing what was, to use a Standard colloquialism, right in front of his eyes. Spock had been certain that his thinking of her as a suspect had been driven by his irrationality, and had ignored his instincts.

Illogical behavior still ruled him. Starfleet regulations dictated that he inform the security team of his whereabouts, but Spock did not care for the idea of others seeing Jim, (his bondmate!) in such a state. The emotions he was still feeling were growing stronger as he got closer to his destination. 

hate/disgust/lust/terror

The lust was stronger. Clearly the drink had started to take effect, beginning to edge out some of Jim’s stronger emotions.  

Spock was in a run-down, dilapidated area of the city. He came to a stop, surveying the area, knowing that Jim was close. Spock took off his outer Starfleet tunic. If Kodos had posted guards, then seeing one lone Starfleet officer running pell-mell for the area would likely set off alarms, even with the substandard intelligence taken into account with whomever he had hired.  He stashed it in a crate, hidden behind what smelled like a garbage receptacle of some sort, and slowly made his way around the corner.

From the front, there were no discernable signs that anyone was being held hostage. It looked innocuous enough, one building in the many other commercial buildings in the area. Perhaps some sort of warehouse?  Spock listened carefully, but could not hear any signs of movement. There were two bright floodlights that shone down onto the front door of the building, and Spock could clearly see the recording device scanning the perimeter. That was logical. In a neighborhood such as this, posting many guards would fairly scream to the locals that you were protecting something valuable. 

He paused again, impatiently, having to build even more shields between him and Jim so that he could function. It was becoming more and more difficult. Spock needed to be in there, now.  It was child’s play to use the fence to access the window on the second story. Spock hunched his long neck as far down as he could so that the paleness of his skin wouldn’t be as obvious as he climbed the wall and hoisted himself up. His black uniform and hair rendered him practically invisible. Spock quickly broke the glass, and stepped inside the building. It was dead quiet. Continuing to listen for sounds that he had been discovered, Spock followed the bond down into the basement.

He walked slowly, making not a sound. Two of the doors were locked and easily hacked into opening.  When he saw the third door, the bond gave a particularly solid movement as though settling into place, sending Spock reeling. He could hear a noise through the thin composite of the door.

It sounded like a wounded animal.

Spock saw red.

Something was roaring, the sound echoing off the walls of the small hallway. A hideous screech of metal being pried open and then he was inside.

Jim lay on the bed, turned over onto his side. He was wearing his Starfleet trousers and nothing else. The top part of his uniform lay in tatters around his torso. Spock could smell blood, Human blood, Jim’s blood over the sharp scent of fear and the musky odor of semen. His vision tunneled onto Jim’s form, as he writhed on the stained mattress. He could see one eye, the bright blue of his gaze boring into him before he was rushing towards the bed. There was a scream of sound, and Spock felt something whiz by his cheekbone and clank against the wall. A knife. He turned his head.

The man standing there in the bathroom slammed the door shut after throwing the dagger, cutting his terrified face off from Spock.

For a split second he was torn. Go to Jim? Go to Kodos? It wasn’t much of a decision. Spock was at Jim’s side in an instant, yanking on the bindings that kept Jim lying on the filthy mattress.  He heard glass crashing from far off. No matter. The universe was not big enough to hide that man from his wrath.

Spock found that tremors in his hands were keeping him from efficiently untying the captain from his bonds.  Blood from a small wound near Jim’s neck had spilled down his torso, making the ropes slippery. Jim turned his head, and Spock could see it: a perfectly formed circle of teeth marks in the meat of Jim’s shoulder. He froze, unprepared for the onslaught of possessiveness he felt upon seeing that someone else had marked his mate.

“Spock….” Jim’s voice, broken. Terrified.

Spock leaned forward, and very gently licked at the bite mark.

Which, upon later reflection might have been a mistake.